The Beauty of Nottingham and the Beast of Sherwood
by nokhnia
Summary: AU. Every full moon someone is offered to the beast in the forest. When Belle's father is chosen, she goes in his place. To her surprise, though, the beast turns out to be a lonely young girl struggling with a curse. Belle has 29 days, until the next full moon,to convince Red that the wolf can be tamed-and maybe even loved. Red Beauty. Slow burn. Good old-fashioned werewolf drama.
1. Chapter 1

**AU: No curse. Takes place entirely in the Enchanted Forest (which here is also Sherwood). Red/Belle I tried to keep pretty close to their OUaT characterizations. The (very few) side characters have more traditional interpretations. **

**A/N: I love writing but am new to fanfic/this site. Sorry in advance for any weird formatting or other problems. I'll keep messing with it. I had a blast with these first couple chapters, hope you do too. (:**

**Chapter 1**

**29 Days  
**

She woke up late, curled around a bloody corpse.

A headache pounded at her temples. The sunlight bullied her eyes into a squint. After a minute that stretched on for an eternity, she finally forced herself up into a sitting position on the ground—slowly. The morning after a turn always left her feeling like a stranger in her own body, and there was still a feverish kind of shaking in her limbs.

The first time she'd woken up like this, she'd screamed at the sight of what her wolf had done. Now, almost two years later, she could go about her damage-control routine with a kind of hollow detachment, as if she were watching it happen to someone else. She'd start by putting on a fresh set of clothes. By noon she'd have the shed back in order. It was only while digging the grave that her resolve would waver. Hard work, even for her, and that hike to the cemetery wasn't short. She never got through it without breaking down. Every month she swore that, next time, she'd just put the leftovers out for the crows. But in the end she always buried her bones.

_Good dog._

She pushed the cynical thought away. Good _person. _She did it because she was a good person. It was only the curse that was bad—the wolf. The beast. The girl had never wanted to hurt anybody.

But it was the girl who'd woken up to the butchery this morning, and the girl who'd have to clean it up—torn clothes, cracked bones, and everywhere, blood. In her hair. Under her nails. On her teeth. On her hands.

_ This, _she thought dryly, _is why they call me Red._

She considered those hands for a moment longer, then gave in and licked her fingers clean.

* * *

In reality, the name had been given to her by her grandmother as a blessing to ward off this exact curse. Wolves, Granny had liked to remind her, were repelled by the color. But a name alone wasn't enough protection, and the curse had found Red anyway, the same way it'd found her mother when she'd turned eighteen.

Red had never known her mother. Maybe if she had, the older wolf could have guided her through that first turn. Or prevented it, even. Red felt sure there was a way. But Red had grown up with Granny instead, and the curse had skipped Granny's generation. And though Granny had been both daughter and mother to a wolf, when Red's time had come, her grandmother had packed up her things and left. Red had simply woken up from her first full moon and found the little cottage empty.

_But look where you are now. Look what it's come to. Can you blame her for leaving, really?_

Red, now almost shoulder-deep in the hole she'd been digging, puffy-eyed from crying and pouring sweat, drove the shovel back into the ground with ragged determination.

_Yes, _she decided.

It was getting close to dark now, and Red knew she had to be back at her cottage by sundown. She worked for a few more minutes before crawling out of the hole and dumping in the bag of bones with as much reverence as she could muster. It was too shallow for a proper grave, really, but she figured of all the things the gods would want to punish her for, cutting corners now was not going to be one of them.

"Forgive me," she muttered, then began shoving dirt back into the ground. She didn't bother bowing her head or saying anything else to mark the occasion. She hadn't known the man, hadn't even known anything about him other than the fact that he was a criminal. Everyone the Sherriff brought her was a criminal. _Swine, _he liked to call them. It didn't do much to soothe Red's guilt, knowing her victims had been dangerous men, but that wasn't why the Sherriff did it anyway. He did it to prove a point.

_The only thing I want more than a dead beast, is a tamed one, _he'd told her in that surprisingly soft voice he had. _We can be of use to each other, you and I. _

_An executioner? You want me to be an executioner? _She'd instantly shied away from the idea.

_Child, _he'd said, chuckling, _You already _are _an executioner. A fine one. I just want to put your skills to better use. Let me tell the good people of Nottingham that I've struck a deal with the beast. They'll have no more reason to hunt you, you'll have no more reason to stray into town for a meal, and the swine will gain a sudden and healthy respect for the law—and, more importantly, for me. _He held out a bony hand. _What do you say?_

Give the devil his due: she'd never hurt an innocent since.

Red slung the shovel and over her shoulder and started making her way out of the cemetery. As always, she stopped to visit Peter first, brushing the grit off his headstone and taking a moment to let her grief make itself felt. Then she jumped the spiked iron fence and crossed into the woods.

The run back home was always easier than the hike into town, and a part of Red, a part she didn't like to own up to, actually enjoyed it. The deepening sky, the cold, clean air, the shifting in the forest as its nocturnal inhabitants came to life—it honed her senses to their sharpest edge, brought her to life in a way little else could. She'd always loved running through the woods, even before the curse, but now it was the highlight of her days. Every step felt like the edge of flight, and at those speeds it was dangerous to concentrate on anything else.

Which was exactly why she liked it.

Red didn't slow up until she was within sight of her cottage. She skidded to a stop on cat-quiet feet. The Sherriff's horse and carriage was waiting in front.

"Dammit," she muttered. She was late. The Sheriff was not a patient man, and their arrangement was a delicate thing even under the best of circumstances. She took a moment to make herself presentable, hooking her long, dark hair behind her ears, smoothing out the folds of her dress, and propping the shovel up outside. Then she hurried in through the back door.

The Sheriff himself was already inside, sitting, hands-clasped, at the kitchen table. Red stopped short, struggling to swallow her surprise. She'd been expecting to cross through and meet him at the front door.

_He's getting bolder. _

"Red," he said, pleasantly. He walked over to greet her. "You look well. Have a seat?"

_In my own home? Hell. _This was more than bold—this was a hostile display of ownership. In the beginning, she had felt very much the Sheriff's equal: she couldn't deny his power and influence, while, underneath his refined veneer and brooding muscle, the nobleman's fluttering heart had always betrayed a very real and persistent dread in her presence.

But in the past couple of months Red had felt more and more like an underling—or worse, a pet—and one who had, today, fallen short of expectations. It's not that the Sheriff had lost any respect for fangs and claws. It's just that he finally seemed to have realized how little Red liked to use them.

She took the seat, slowly, pinning him with wary eyes.

"You're late," the Sheriff observed.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had urgent business. I'm sorry."

She mentally kicked herself for being so contrite. It just reinforced his authority, and worse, it made her wolf restless. How _easy_ it would be, she realized, to sweep around the table and close her teeth around his throat—

_ No._

"—see you've been running."

Red blinked, focusing. "What?"

"I said, urgent indeed. I can see you've been running." The Sheriff's fingers steepled with fatherly patience. "And digging, too, if I'm not mistaken."

He reached across then to brush away a smudge of dirt on Red's cheek. She shrank back from his touch, curling her lip instinctively.

The Sheriff's gentle smile faded. "Don't show your teeth at me, now, girl," he said quietly. "I'm the only friend you've got."

"I bury my dead, Sherrff," Red said at last. "You know I do. I'm sorry I was late getting back this time. Some days are harder than others."

Now it was his turn to sneer. "_Burying your dead. _Gods save us. Is there anything more useless than sentimentality in a werewolf?"

Red twitched her shoulder in a shrug.

"You could have been seen," he said.

"I'm never seen. People know better than to go near the woods during wolf's time, and the cemetery is pretty damn close."

"Watch your tongue. You'll act like a lady in my presence, even if you aren't one."

Red sighed. "If you have no special instructions for me this month, Sheriff, I'll just take the new prisoner and be on my way. It's getting late."

The Sheriff considered her for a long moment, then nodded. "No, Red, as always, I just like to keep things…tidy." He stood and beckoned. "Follow me, then."

The made their way outside through the front door. It was well and truly dark now, and the late autumn chill bit into her bare arms. The Sheriff led Red over towards his carriage but stopped her a few feet short. He lowered his voice.

"Now I'll just remind you, Red, that if you have an incident before the full moon, you need only send me word and I'll be back within two days' time with someone new. There's no shortage of outlaws in my dungeons."

Red fought to contain her exasperation. It was cold, and she was exhausted. The high from her run was gone. "Do I look like I want to have an 'incident'?" she demanded.

"No," the Sheriff admitted, tilting his head, "I just get the feeling you might have trouble waiting for this one. She's not like the usual swine I bring you." He stepped aside so Red could see for herself. "This little piggy looks good."

The mad swirl of frustration in Red's mind became suddenly still then, replaced by genuine curiosity and something approaching panic. Here was something unexpected, something that threatened her delicate routine, something she already knew she was going to make things even harder than they were:

_She?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**29 Days**

She woke up early, curled around a leather-bound book.

Belle had fallen asleep while reading it, and the cover had left a pattern of creases on her cheek. When she was younger she'd always believed that sleeping with a book under her pillow would give her dreams about the story. More often, she found herself accidentally using the book _as_ a pillow instead. In which case she was less likely to get the dreams she wanted and more likely to wake up with a sore jaw.

Still, all things considered, she supposed there were worse ways to start a day than with the smell of pages.

Belle closed the book and put it on her nightstand, sitting up straighter in the folds of her bed. She stretched. The first streaks of daylight poured in red through her window. She could already hear her father hard at work outside. Belle tended to rise with the sun, swimming up out of sleep, but her father was made of more precise clockwork and woke up sharply every morning before it was light out. He used the time to work on his inventions. Usually, he would come back in no later than eight o' clock and cook up breakfast for the both of them. But since she was up a little early today, Belle decided to surprise him and cook breakfast herself.

She glided into the kitchen, dressed but still barefoot. Theirs was a modest household, situated near the tattered outskirts of a village near the tattered outskirts of Nottingham. Further north, Sherwood Forest formed a massive wall, trees so tall their shadows threw entire homes into shade on long summer evenings. Nothing lit Belle's imagination like the idea of diving into those endless woods, something her father had strictly forbidden. The forest belonged to beasts and bandits, he reminded her, and those who wandered off the path were often never seen again.

This was why she loved her books. At least _fictional_ people were allowed to have adventures.

Belle stirred a large scoop of oats into the pot of water she'd put over the fire, adding in a handful of strawberries. They only had a few left over from the summer, but the fruit gave the porridge some much-needed pop. Red had always been Belle's favorite color, the color of bold intentions and hot-blooded life. When she went out in the world she wore yellow or blue, sensible choices, but in the solitude of night she dreamed in crimson.

_Papa will love this, _Belle thought, pleased. The meal was almost ready.

She was startled a second later by an urgent knock on the door that rattled the glass in the window. Belle gave the oats a final stir, waddled the pot off from over the fire, and swept across the room to see who it was.

"Gaston?" she said when she answered the door, taken aback.

The strong-armed huntsman practically filled her doorway, his long, shaggy hair pulled back. He looked down at her with dark eyes and smiled broadly. She was suddenly, keenly aware of the rat's nest that was her hair and the sheer nerve of her bare feet.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you," she stammered. Gaston had called on her several times before, but never without warning like this.

He grinned. "I'd make a poor hunter if my quarry always knew when I was coming." Then he glanced over her shoulder. "Is your father home?"

Belle ran a furtive hand through her bangs. "He's out back. I was just getting breakfast ready for him, actually, so now might not be the best ti—"

"Perfect." He shouldered his way past her and sat at the kitchen table, boots propped. "I've brought him something. A token of my good intentions, before I leave."

Belle went from flustered to annoyed at this presumptuous display. All of her friends got swept up by Gaston's swagger, but Belle found it overbearing. She'd rather be with someone who had the good sense to know the difference between confidence and arrogance. And though, to his credit, Gaston _did _cut an impressive figure, Belle had always found his imagination lacking, if not completely nonexistent, which she found difficult to forgive.

Of course, all her friends thought she was a bleeding fool. Sometimes she worried they were right.

"I didn't know you were leaving," Belle said carefully, taking a seat next to him.

Gaston began ladling himself generous helpings of the strawberry porridge. "Later this morning, in fact. I'm traveling to the castle to see the queen herself. I just got word she's looking for the finest huntsman in the realm. Needs help catching a bandit."

He paused for effect. No prizes for guessing who he thought the finest huntsman was.

"The castle? That's…far," Belle stumbled. She wasn't sure what else to say in the face of such a large announcement.

"I'll be gone for a month," Gaston agreed. He pointed his spoon at Belle. "When I get back, I'll have been rewarded handsomely for my services. Enough to start my life proper, I should think. And to support a wife."

Belle's breath caught in her throat. She'd been expecting this eventually, but certainly not so soon. "Gaston, if this is a proposal—"

"Not _yet_," he said. "Not over _porridge. _Besides, I still need your father's blessing. Which is why I'm here, actually. Consider my gift today a down payment, the rest to come upon my return for the wedding. That should give the old man some time to get used to the idea of us." Then he reached for his satchel, pulling out a freshly-killed rabbit like some macabre magician. He laid it across the table and grinned.

"Lovely, you brought us…a dead thing? You're like a cat."

Gaston took this as a compliment. "Absolutely. It takes great skill to hunt down a white rabbit. They're rare, and all the old wives say the back feet are good luck. You won't find anyone else in the village who could do half as well." He leaned back on the back two legs of his chair, balancing with an easy athleticism that was difficult to ignore. "I enjoy providing for you, Belle. And you'll enjoy it, too. You'll see."

Belle considered the rabbit's blank eyes. "You know," she said slowly. "I haven't said yes, yet."

"Only because I haven't asked." He winked. "Good morning, Maurice!" Gaston let the chair fall back to the ground as Belle's father came into the cottage. He was a small man with wide glasses and wild hair, swallowed up just then by his large welding apron and elbow-length work gloves. He squinted in confusion at the sight of the suitor.

"…Gaston?" Then he turned to his daughter. "Belle?"

"He was just stopping by, Papa," Belle said quickly. "He's brought us something. A gift, he says."

Gaston was already making his way towards her father. He shook the older man's hand with such gusto that Maurice's whole shoulder shook.

"The first of many wedding gifts," Gaston explained. "I've come to chat."

"No chatting," Maurice said in a clipped voice. He and Belle both had the accent of the old country, but unlike Belle, he had never mastered the common tongue here. "You are leaving now."

"Yes, I'm on my way to the castle to personally help the queen," Gaston went on, oblivious. "And when I return I intend to finally propose to your daughter. She is the beauty of Nottingham, sir, and—"

"You are leaving _now_," Maurice repeated, and Belle stepped back in surprise as her father ushered the huntsman towards the door with a sudden flurry of energy.

"But—"

"Good day, ponytail man."

"I'll come back for you, Belle!" Gaston called back, and her father closed the door in his face.

Belle giggled. "You didn't have to be so harsh, Papa."

He threw his gloves and apron to the ground. "I do not like this boy."

"You don't like any boys."

"This boy especially. Too cocky, he is. And there is rodent on our table."

"Yes, well apparently he worked very hard to get it. We can make a nice stew tonight."

Her father grunted noncommittally. Belle wasn't sure why she was defending Gaston when she was relieved to have him gone. She supposed she was more of a romantic than she liked to admit. It wasn't _him _that she wanted, she was fairly sure…but being confronted with a promised proposal had kicked up the kind of wishful thinking she usually scorned in other girls. To have a connection that meaningful with someone, someone who actually understood her completely…perhaps she was just defending the principle of the thing.

"I made breakfast," Belle went on as she ladled up what was left of the porridge.

"You are changing subject," Maurice objected, but he softened when he saw the strawberries.

"Don't worry about Gaston, Papa. He's leaving for a long time. And I'd never say yes anyway."

Her father eyed her warily, having already been unpleasantly surprised once before breakfast, but started in on his food without further comment.

"How's the contraption going?" Belle asked of his latest invention.

"Good. I am needing more nails, which I will find this afternoon. I believe—"

They were startled then by another loud knocking on the door.

"He is coming back?" her father demanded.

"Probably." The brief endearment she'd felt towards the huntsman evaporated. It was exactly this kind of entitled behavior that made her want to toss a cup of wine in his face. "Let me get it, Papa," she sighed, and made her way to the door.

"Tell him I say to come back when you are being my age."

Belle smiled and rolled her eyes. But to her surprise, it wasn't Gaston at the door, though the man standing there looked a bit like an older, leaner version of him. He was finely dressed in the royal colors, a long scar looping down his cheek. He appraised Belle with pale eyes.

"Is this the French house?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice.

"Yes," Belle said hesitantly.

"Is Maurice French home?"

"My father, no, he…stepped out," Belle lied. She wasn't sure why she'd done it, other than some deep instinct that told her this man meant them no good. Belle stepped outside herself, closing the door behind her.

"May I give him a message for you, Mister…?"

The man smiled thinly. "You do not know who I am?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"The Sheriff of Nottingham, at your service."

"Sheriff!" Belle dipped her head in a clumsy, belated show of respect. Everyone knew _of _the Sheriff, of course, but it was so rare, this far from town, to see him in person. She could perhaps be forgiven for not recognizing the nobleman by sight, but still, to prick the vanity of such a notoriously proud man…she'd have to tread carefully from here.

"What can I do for you, good sir?" she continued.

The Sheriff's face was unreadable. "Your father stands accused of treason."

"_What_?" Belle struggled to keep her voice down.

"His inventions are an offense to gods and men, abominations of science. For too long have the local lawmen let this dangerous activity go unchecked."

"No, you don't understand," Belle stammered. "He's harmless. It's just a hobby of his. He's a carpenter by day, honest work—"

"He has also been supplying the enemy."

Belle stood frozen in her own doorway.

"The—the enemy?"

"Outlaws who no longer support the queen's claim and work daily to see her downfall. Some of them are based in Nottingham. Mister French has been supplying them with his 'contraptions' for several months now. Self-propelled carriages. Advanced weaponry. Gliders. And coin, earned from his more pedestrian inventions. He has escaped attention, living so remotely, protected by his reputation as a harmless, witless old man…but I have informers everywhere, and it was only a matter of time before we found him out."

Belle's heart beat so loud she was certain the Sheriff could hear it. Her father had never mentioned any such thing…and yet, sometimes, on quiet winter nights, he'd mutter about how the queen was a cruel and bitter woman; about how, in the old country—now savaged by the same plague that had claimed Belle's mother—people had been able to love and trust their royals.

She had never put much stock in those conversations. Her father was much sharper than their ignorant neighbors claimed, true, but he had _always _seemed innocuous, even to Belle.

"What's to be done?" Belle asked quietly.

The Sheriff produced a small roll of parchment. "Maurice French is sentenced to die, sacrificed to the beast of the forest for his crimes."

Belle felt as if a giant were squeezing her chest, pushing the air out of her lungs and forcing her heart into her throat.

"It is a great honor to give yourself up for the good of the people," the Sheriff continued. "His death will absolve him and his loved ones of his sins. Precious few criminals can hope for as much."

_Death. _The next few seconds telescoped into an eternity for Belle. Her father—her tireless role model of kindness, patience, and creativity, the man who had raised her alone and introduced her to the magic of reading and invention, the only person she had truly loved in this life—sentenced to spend the last days of his life cowering in the dirt like a hog awaiting slaughter.

And a terrible slaughter it would be. Not the quick, clean death of a well-tied noose, or even the messy but swift death human hunters afforded their prey, but something older and bloodier and far more cruel—eaten alive, killed by the mouthful.

"It was my hope to find Mister French here and escort him quietly," the Sheriff went on, his voice distant in Belle's ears. "But I have a warrant for his arrest, and when we find him, he'll be taken by force."

"Take me," Belle whispered.

The Sheriff scowled. "Speak up."

"Take me." Her voice was stronger now, and she met his eyes. "I'll go in his place."

"Fool-headed girl. You don't know what you're asking for, and you've done nothing wrong."

"I do and I don't care. You need a sacrifice? Take me. _Please_," she added when the Sheriff remained silent.

"You expect me to allow your father to continue his actions? By himself he doesn't threaten the queen's peace, true enough, but a message must be sent or one man may become many."

"And what stronger message could you send than to punish his family in his place? Those who would act rashly against your law would think twice if they knew their children could be taken instead."

The Sheriff's thin smile ticked up a few degrees. "Perhaps…"

"But you'd have to spare him," Belle continued in a rush. It was like running down a steep hill, this thing she was doing. She was starting to trip over her words. "Don't kill him, don't even imprison him. Just let him live in peace."

"As much peace as a man can have knowing his daughter died the way you will… despised by his neighbors, despised by himself, a cautionary tale for the rest of his days." He eyed her with more respect. "You raise valid points, French. Clever for a common girl."

Belle tried to ignore the rising fear in her chest. _At least he'd be alive. _"Do we have a deal?"

The Sheriff studied her for a moment longer, then took the warrant in his hands and tore it neatly in two. Belle nearly collapsed from relief.

"Thank you. Let me just go tell him good-bye—" she began, but the Sheriff trapped her wrist in an iron grip.

"And here you were telling me he wasn't home," he chuckled. "We leave now, girl, or I take you both."

A sob forced its way out of Belle's throat. "But—"

The Sheriff gestured, and, seemingly from the shadows, two soldiers appeared and bound her in shackles. They led her to his carriage in silence. She didn't fight them, but the tears flowed freely.

"Papa!" Belle cried out. "I'm sorry—"

Then she felt the sudden pain of a cuff to the head, and the world went dark around her.

Ever since she was a little girl, Belle had wanted nothing more than to explore the darkest depths of Sherwood Forest. Now that she was in them, she wanted nothing more than to go back.

It was getting close to dark, and the Sheriff had gone into the little cottage to await the beast's return from…well, whatever it did during the day. The stories left out such details, though Belle knew the bones of it well enough: the beast had been born in the heart of the forest. It had killed the old woman and the granddaughter who'd lived here. And once a month it had come to feed on the people of Nottingham. First the villagers had tried to slay it, then the soldiers, then, finally, the huntsman—Gaston's predecessor, shepherd of the forest. And when he too had failed, the Sheriff had gone himself and struck his deal with the beast. The people had enjoyed relative peace for some thirteen months now. Most commoners thought of the Sheriff as a hero.

Belle knew better now. The lawman relished this grisly work far too much, and he did it for all the wrong reasons.

She peered outside the little carriage window. Her legs were cramping, and the shackles had chafed her wrists and ankles. The cottage looked warm and deceptively inviting from here, a sharp contrast to the oncoming dark. In her stories, the hero always found an escape. Her own outlook seemed increasingly grim.

_If the rumors are true, I'll have a month to find a way out, _Belle reminded herself. The huntsman had thought the beast's cyclical hunting patterns suggested it was a werewolf. Wolf's time, they called it, that week of the full moon. Though of course he himself had been killed during a new moon, Belle remembered, so if it was a werewolf, it must not be a very strict one. Which was why they needed a prisoner at all times. These things were unpredictable, and no one who could have told them more had lived to tell their tale.

_I'll be the first, _Belle decided. She would escape, she would see her father again, and when the time came, she'd have the makings of a story better than any she'd read.

She hoped.

She sat up then at the sound of the cabin door opening. The Sheriff was returning at last, and with him was a…girl? A human certainly, and the figure looked feminine. They stopped outside the carriage for a moment, talking in hushed tones she couldn't hear, before the Sheriff finally opened the door.

A girl. Yes. A girl about her age, maybe older, with the kind of dark, arresting beauty that was so odds with what Belle had been expecting that for a moment she wondered if she was actually passed out in the carriage, dreaming. The girl's eyes flashed briefly, reflecting the torchlight behind her, but beyond that there was no evidence of her inhuman nature.

The Sheriff yanked Belle out of the carriage before hopping in himself.

"Red, I'll plan to see you in a month. Belle…" He shrugged. "Enjoy your martyrdom."

He gave a signal to driver, and with that his carriage rattled away.

Belle watched him go with rapidly increasing panic. This day had started with sunlight and strawberries. And now…now…

"Shit," the other girl said bluntly.

Belle tended to agree.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the positive reviews! If all goes according to plan the next chapter we should start seeing some fluff. (: **

**Chapter 3**

**28 Days**

It had been one of those nights so long and so tedious that when the sun finally showed Red almost didn't believe it.

Why she could sleep soundly after murdering someone but had been kept up by the thought of locking that girl in the shed, she didn't know. She guessed it'd been the shattered expression on the other girl's face. Red had played it over and over again in her mind's eye last night. She thought that by now she had seen everything from her patrons—hatefulness, pleading, defiance, denial, madness, hopefulness, resignation, lust—but never anything remotely approaching Belle's look of overwhelming pity and compassion.

_You're the beast? _she had asked in that peculiar accent she had, after the last sound of the Sheriff's carriage faded away.

_So they tell me._

Surprise, acceptance, and then, that look. _Gods, _she'd said._ I had no idea. _

At which point Red, too disarmed to respond, had simply hustled the girl along to her quarters. The little garden shed behind the cottage had once belonged to Granny, who'd liked to clean her crossbow there. Now it was just a ramshackle guesthouse, with a decidedly inhospitable snarl of chains on the door. Thanks to those chains, Red had at least been able to remove the irons from Belle's wrists and feet before locking her inside. But it probably hadn't made a cold night on the ground much more comfortable.

_Whatever. It's still more space and privacy than she would've had in a dungeon. And you can't assume she's harmless just because she's young and pretty. You of all people should know that. _

Not that Red felt very pretty at this hour of the day. She had never been a morning person, not before the change and certainly not after it. Still, she _was _responsible for feeding the girl, and so long as she was up early, she figured she might as well get it over with. A part of her was curious anyway.

She got dressed and went into the kitchen, grateful that the Sheriff's invasive scent has dissipated during the night. Red had never been much of a cook, though her grandmother had been a master. She herself had learned just enough to know how to cut up apples and bake them nice and slow over a fire. She figured maybe Belle would like that.

_Slipped again. Quit using her name. It doesn't matter who she is. Or what she likes. She's already dead._

Red added some cinnamon.

When the apples were done it was still only just light out. Red served them up and took them out to the shed, the tips of her ears stinging in the early morning air. She held the wooden bowl with one hand, removed the chains with the other, and deftly opened the door with her foot. It swung in with an arthritic creak.

The girl was already awake. Not suddenly startled by Red's entrance or slowly emerging out of sleep, but sitting up, cleared-eyed, and reading a damn book. After a moment Red recognized it as the herb dictionary Granny had kept in here. It hadn't been touched in years.

"Why the hell are you up?" Red blurted.

The girl tried to look brave and didn't quite manage it. "I like mornings," she said honestly.

Gods. She liked mornings. Red had never met a criminal who liked mornings. She dropped the bowl to the ground and nudged it over.

"Well, this is for you."

_Stop talking._

Her face lit up. "Thank you."

A morning person with manners? Red scowled, turning to leave before she was tempted to comment further. It was one of the Sheriff's conditions that she not speak to the criminals unless absolutely necessary—a rule Red was usually more than grateful to follow.

"You know," Belle said then, just before Red could shut the door. "There's a recipe in this book for a sleep remedy, if you're willing to go gather the plants. It doesn't look too involved."

_Just keep walking. _

Red gripped the door, then turned back around. "What makes you think I don't sleep?"

"Do you?" she challenged. Her heartbeat flared, but her face remained defiant. "You're clearly exhausted. I want to help."

Red raised an eyebrow. _You want to get on my good side, you mean, as if the wolf had one, _she thought._ Or maybe you just want to poison me. Not sure what your angle is yet, but everybody has one._

"I find that hard to believe," was all she said.

"I'm telling the truth."

Red opened her mouth for another retort, then stopped short as she read Belle's body language. The girl wasn't lying.

"Then you're a fool," Red said in a low voice. "If I were you I'd spend my time planning my escape, not trying to keep my enemies—_well-rested_."

"You're not my enemy," Belle said. "The Sheriff was the one who put me in here, and he's the one who'll pay when the time comes."

Red scowled. She'd heard plenty of her patrons curse the Sheriff before, but this was first one she actually believed. In that moment, sitting in the dirt with her dress soiled, her hair ragged, her skin raw, but her matter-of-fact expression unyielding, Belle seemed more in control of her destiny than most noblemen, and certainly more than Red felt herself, despite the fact that she was the one standing.

"What did you do to get in here?" Red asked quietly.

"Nothing. I came in my father's place."

Red's heart lurched painfully. "You mean the Sheriff knowingly condemned an innocent?" _Gods help me, why did I ask?_

"I insisted," Belle went on. "He didn't deserve to die."

"And you do?"

Belle shrugged, as if she hadn't given her own mortality much thought. "I think the Sheriff just wanted to make an example of him," she went on. "He's been sending aid to the rebels, apparently. It threatens the Sheriff's authority. But he's not dangerous, my father, not at all. He's honest and quiet and patient and kind…"

Belle's voice started to taper, and then—Red sensed it, with growing dread, a moment before it happened—was lost in a choked sob. Just that quickly the other girl's admirable resolve cracked.

_This is why you don't talk to them. This is why. You don't talk to them. _

Red, frozen, continued to curse herself. What exactly had she hoped to gain, by starting a dialogue with this girl? How could either of them benefit from humanizing the other side of the equation? You had to think of them as animals marked for the butcher; there was a reason the Sheriff called them swine.

_It'd just been so _long _since I talked to another girl my age—_

_Selfish. It was selfish. Fix it, now. _

Red stepped forward hesitantly, hand extended to comfort, but the girl recoiled at her touch, her face an open mask of fear. That was instinctive, Red knew, a natural response to being startled by a known killer. But it still hurt.

"I'll be back with your supper," she muttered, backing off. The other girl wiped her eyes and seemed about to speak, but Red, whose own throat burned dangerously with the threat of tears now, did the one thing she knew for certain how to do: she ran.

She slammed the door shut and fed the chains back through the handles. She didn't bother to consider a destination. Anywhere but here was good. The forest melted to a soft green blur as she gathered speed, the morning air keen as a blade against her skin. After a few minutes Red's breathing steadied into a rhythm, and she swallowed the pit in her throat. She pushed herself faster, desperate to quiet her mind.

The girl was innocent.

Red had told herself, time and time again, that it didn't matter who the Sheriff sent her. She wasn't a god; she had no right to decide who deserved to be killed by the wolf. Truly, no one deserved to be killed by the wolf. That's why it had been so easy to let the burden of choice rest of someone else's shoulders.

But a part of her had always found comfort in the fact that she was only given other monsters. True, on her darker days, she knew that locking her wolf in a small space with an unarmed prisoner was, in a twisted way, less honorable than hunting down villagers who could run or fight back. But, on her better days, she'd actually managed to convince herself that she was doing good.

As if anything good could come from this curse.

_It's not your fault, _a small voice reminded her. _The Sheriff's the one abusing his power. Using you. Even Belle can see it. _

Red growled in frustration at the thought. Being a beast was bad enough, but being a puppet was worse. The nobleman would have to be dealt with. Still, she'd been working with—for_—_the Sheriff so long that she was afraid to go back to who she was without him. In the six months before their contract, her wolf would easily kill a dozen people in a night. In the year since, it had only killed twelve altogether.

And Belle was to be thirteen. She _had _to be thirteen. Even if she was innocent. Even if she was kind. Even if, after only a few minutes, she already felt like the closest thing Red had had to a friend in nearly two years. Because however else her sense of morality had been muddied, Red still knew that less bloodshed was better.

_Fine, then. Kill her. Let nature its course. Just don't talk to her again, for the love of the gods. You'll make it even worse for both of you. _

Of course, Red knew she at least owed the girl an apology.

And supper, since she'd promised it.

Red slowed her pace at that last thought, suddenly regretting she hadn't thought to bring her bow out here with her. Not that she really needed it, not anymore. But hunting without a weapon always seemed like a dangerous indulgence. Partially because nothing made her feel less human, and mostly because she enjoyed it so damn much.

But, really, it would be a shame to come all this way without bringing something back.

_To hell with it, _Red decided. She was in a mood. So far her human instincts had done zero good today.

Maybe the wolf would do better.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Much faster update and a much longer chapter. :) Thank you all for the kind reviews!**

**Chapter 4**

**28 Days**

It was just that she missed her father so very much.

This was what had loosed Belle's tears. Not fear, not anger, just a deep sense of loss. She'd spared Maurice an ugly death, but not herself from grieving him. For a while she'd been able to keep that pain at a distance as first adrenaline and then exhaustion pushed her emotions to the back of her mind. Even this morning she'd been able to distract herself with the herb dictionary she'd found—a far cry from the thick-spun stories she was used to, certainly, but the unusual information and the rhythm of the words had been soothing enough to lull her into a sort of numbness. She'd been able to put on a brave face when Red came in with her breakfast.

But then, their conversation had turned toward her father…and Belle had realized, with crushing clarity, that she would likely never see him again.

_Likely. _

Now, her face still red but her eyes wiped dry, Belle clung to this fact: the wolf-girl did not strike her as much of a killer. She was dangerous, yes. That much had been evident immediately. Her movements were lithe, quiet, predatory; she looked at Belle with an intentness that was surely part-hunger. If the stories were to be believed—and Belle believed them—she had more notches on her belt than the bloodiest soldier in the Sheriff's garrison.

But that was the wolf's doing, and it was the obvious the girl had a gentler nature. One that was suffering under the burden of a curse. Aching, lonely, ragged with guilt—Belle could see that Red was as much a prisoner as she herself was, and that she'd never hurt anyone if she had a choice in the matter.

Of course, Belle had read enough lore to know that werewolves _never _had a choice in the matter. But those were the stories she didn't believe. It seemed likely—_likely_—she might have a chance of surviving if she learned a little more about the subtle mechanics of lycanthropy.

Or if, as Red had suggested herself, she simply made good her escape.

_Escape. Yes. That's a thing prisoners do. _Belle swallowed her last sniffle and forced herself to stand up. It was hard to tell time in here, with only a small window of daylight, but she judged it had been about two hours since Red had left. Too long. It was time to put away self-pity and get to work. If she truly missed her father, she'd find a way back to him.

Belle began a thorough inspection of the shed, starting with the doors. They yielded a surprising amount when she pushed them, enough for her to stick her hand outside. But the chains prevented her from pushing any further, and she couldn't seem to unsnarl them or force the doors free. After a few futile minutes she let them groan shut.

Could she burrow her way out? Any shovels the shed may have once held had since been removed, though Belle supposed, with persistence, she could dig with her hands. An unsavory thought. She bent down to get a closer look at the soil anyway. It was packed hard, and soon the frost would set in. All things considered, she didn't trust herself to dig free quickly or quietly enough. The second she was discovered, the game was over.

The window then. It was on the back wall. There was a workbench that ran around the inside of the shed, and standing on it, she might just be tall enough to pull herself out. Whether or not she would be strong enough, though…well, she would worry about that when the time came.

Belle hoisted herself up unsteadily, cursing when she was rewarded with a splinter in her palm. The workbench was solidly built, but it was also old and warped. She took liberal care making her way towards the window, cursing again when her bare foot found a crooked nail.

It was an unspoken assumption in her stories that the heroes were all toughened fighters. Belle, however, was neither tough nor athletic, and this was already two minor injuries too many for her liking. How was she going to make it all the way back home through the woods in one piece if she could barely make it to the window without drawing blood?

_Never mind all that. Just get out of here first. _

Belle reached the window and was encouraged to discover she could just see out of it standing on her tiptoes. Unfortunately, it had no latch. It was just a thin pane of glass to let light in. If she wanted to get out, she'd have to break the glass and try to crawl through without shredding herself—not easily done, considering how small the opening was. Still, the glass was already broken, so one of her predecessors must've tried, though Belle couldn't imagine any grown man fitting his shoulders through. Even if he could, he would've cut himself at some point, and Belle didn't see any evidence of spilled blood—something other parts of the shed had plenty of.

So why else break the glass, if not to escape? Belle realized it a second later: to create a weapon. _Clever_. She supposed she could do the same so long as she protected her hand, perhaps with a shred of cloth taken from her dress. Something to defend herself with, if—no, _when_—Red tracked her down. She considered a shard that looked particularly promising, glinting in the corner like a lethal icicle. After a moment of indecision she bent down to tear at her dress. She tugged once, twice.

She couldn't do it.

Belle scowled with growing frustration. That a hero should be able to rip free a strip of cloth with ease to create a makeshift bandage or a rappelling line was another forgone conclusion she was finding to be simply untrue. She knew she was no slouch. She'd hated when Gaston had implied she was too delicate for certain work, usually the fun kind. Now, though, she needed to face stark reality: brute force and physical toughness were not her strong points. She was not going to bully herself free of this prison or overpower a seasoned werewolf. Like her father, she'd have to use her wits to get by.

Belle jumped to the ground, a large part of her relieved. She didn't think she could have brought herself to actually hurt Red anyway, not even to save her own life. Violence simply wasn't in her nature.

Besides, there was no reason to think any amount of martial skill would help her anyway. It hadn't helped anyone else. Not the villagers. Not the soldiers. Not the huntsman or a dozen dangerous criminals. Because they had all been going about it the wrong way. They shouldn't be trying to kill the wolf. They should be trying to tame it. And Belle suspected Red was the only one who could do that.

_But has she even tried?_

That's what she needed to find out. That, and whatever else the girl knew about her condition. Maurice always demanded careful research before taking any action; Belle would follow his lead. Observing, learning. Teasing out the secret to self-control, if there was one. To help Red was to help herself. _That _was how she would focus her energy.

It was a reckless plan. Maybe the stories were right and the wolf really couldn't be controlled come the full moon. But Belle figured she still had some twenty-eight days until that bloody deadline. Even if Red never trusted her enough to listen to what she had to say, so long as she trusted her enough to start letting her guard down, more favorable conditions for escape were bound to present themselves.

One way or another, Belle would see her father again.

* * *

_The moon is rising. The beast approaches. I will have no body to bury, nor headstone to keep, so let me be remembered here, and thus: My name was Dylan. My work was carpentry. And all I did, I did for Marian. May the kingdom she finds herself in be better than the one I leave behind. _

Belle rubbed her fingers over the well-worn etching in the wood, a chill rippling down her arms. During her continued exploration of the shed she'd found more than a few echoes carved into the walls. Final confessions. Names of loved ones. Tallies, as prisoners counted down their days. The unraveling litany of a madman who'd written, over and over, _Fight them all. _

But this, this here…this was different. This was…complete. It troubled Belle to think of someone's father scratching his last words into these lonely walls. It troubled her to think that Marian, whoever and wherever she was, would never see them.

And most of all, it troubled her to think that this Dylan had probably been innocent, just like her own father, his only crime to have sided against a powerful man.

Of course, she reassured herself, no one would want their last words to be unflattering ones. _"All I did," _that could cover a multitude of unspoken sins. And certainly some of the other carvings confirmed that the men who had penned them had been given to violence or anger, though perhaps anyone in this situation would be.

But these words didn't feel like a lie to her, and once the misgiving had taken root in Belle's mind, it flourished like a weed.

_Dangerous men. The Sheriff always crows about the dangerous men he sends off every month. But were they really dangerous to everyone? Or just to him? What if I'm not the first political prisoner? _

_What if I'm only the latest?_

Belle was shaken out of these unnerving thoughts by a sudden crash in the surrounding woods. Startled, she climbed on top of the work bench and peered out the window.

Red was returning.

Belle hadn't even realized the other girl had left the area. It'd been at least six or seven hours since she'd brought Belle breakfast. She returned now with what was presumably dinner, a massive, full-grown elk with a spread of antlers that looked as wide as she was tall. It was by these that she dragged it along the forest floor with a bloody-knuckled fist, as easily as a child pulled a wagon. Her face was taut with effort and anticipation. She crashed through the underbrush with little concern for anyone who could have followed.

The beast approaches.

_Gods preserve me! _Belle found herself seized by an almost religious fear. That elk had to weigh at least a thousand pounds. How was she carrying it? How had she _killed _it? If this was how strong she was when the wolf was contained, what power would she have when she letit_ out_?

The plan was folly. Belle saw that now. She would die here, slowly, and screaming.

_Will you calm down? _she scolded herself. _She's just been hunting, same as anyone. Gaston killed game all the time. _

_Rabbits. He killed rabbits. With a bow. At the most, deer. Never an elk with his bare hands._

_Never a person with his teeth. _

A moment later Red crossed out of Belle's view, and Belle dropped down so she could peek through the gap in the doors. Red disappeared into the cottage for a moment, then reemerged with tools to clean the animal. No doubt the job would take the rest of the day. It would be messy. Difficult to watch.

_So why am I still watching?_

Gaston had never let her watch him prepare big game like this. It was one of those things he thought her too delicate for. But Belle had an academic mind, and just because she had no desire to go hunting herself didn't mean she had no interest in it. Soon her morbid curiosity gave way to genuine fascination. There was something mesmerizing—beautiful, even—about the swift, sure movements of the knife, the concentration on Red's face. About her arms, lean with muscle, and her nimble hands. There was an almost intimate way she went about her work. Belle had never seen anything like it.

She had also never seen anyone lick the blood off a carving knife, either. That was altogether less reassuring.

_But it does tell me more about the curse, _Belle thought. _Obviously the wolf has an effect on her human behavior. Surely that influence can work both ways._

Ever the optimist, Belle started to feel better about the whole thing.

After a while Belle forced herself to look away, but after so long of peering out, the shed seemed oppressively dark. Even the light from the window had crossed over. She wouldn't be able to read very well. A lethal kind of boredom threatened, countered only by her persistent and growing doubt. Belle could see why some of her predecessors had gone insane.

She sighed and scratched a tiny picture of a wolf into the bloodstained wall_, _then lied back with her hands laced behind her head and tried not to think of her father.

Belle didn't remember drifting off. It was a gray and dreamless sleep, and she woke without feeling any more rested. Someone was calling her name.

_Not now. Please. You've no idea how tired I am. _

"_Belle._" This time the distant voice was joined by a gentle boot to the ribs. Belle jolted up, heart hammering as she woke up more fully and remembered where she was.

Red stood above her, head tilted uncertainly. Some deep instinct urged Belle to movement. She stood, turning to expose less of herself.

The other girl frowned slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, I was just…startled." She ran a hand through her hair. "Can I—can I ask what time it is?" The little window was dark.

"A little after seven. I came to bring your supper." Red cleared her throat. "And to apologize."

Belle's heart rate gradually slowed. "What for?"

The frown deepened. "For upsetting you this morning."

It felt like a century had passed since then. After a moment she found the memory in question, and recalled it with a certain amount of shame. She valued her composure above all, and this morning she had lost it.

"It's forgotten," Belle said, shrugging.

"You don't have to—"

"No, I'm serious," she insisted. "I'm the sorry one. You were just trying to make conversation. I shouldn't have burdened you with my troubles. I regret it, to be honest."

Red just stared for a moment. "Well, anyway, here's supper." She shoved a plate down the workbench in her general direction. Sure enough, it was venison. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Wait! Just…stay a while. Please." The words leapt out of Belle's throat, a betrayal. It was never a part of the plan to sound so desperate for company, but after this long and lonely day, she realized that she was.

Red looked pained. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Says who? The Sheriff? Is it a rule or something?" Red turned to leave. "You shouldn't listen to him," Belle continued, her voice growing stronger. "He's not the man he says he is. He's dishonest, cowardly—"

"He's an ass." Red's voice was low, almost a growl. The sound sent a spear of panic through Belle's stomach, but simple bluntness of the words made her smirk. Red turned back and softened her expression. "Sorry. I guess that wasn't very ladylike. Or even humanlike."

Her smirk widened. "No, it's fine. I can think of nothing more boring than being proper. I speak from experience. And I'm glad someone else sees the Sheriff for what he is."

Red laughed a little. "Well, you can't go by me. He and I have a complicated relationship."

"So you won't mind me planning his downfall, then."

"Hell no. I'll even help." She was grinning in earnest now, the first time Belle had seen her do so. "Gods, I was so tempted to do him in myself last night. He came into my kitchen like he owned the place."

"I know the exact feeling," Belle said, surprised at just how exact it was. "There's a man in my village who's…a bit of an ass himself." She supposed Gaston would be well on his way to the palace by now, and wouldn't know of her situation until it was over. "He's harmless, though," she added, wondering at her own indifference. "Not much going on upstairs."

"It's what's downstairs that counts, anyway," Red said sagely. "Is he a suitor, this man?"

"How did you know?"

Red shrugged. "Most of them are."

"Well, I don't really know what to call him anymore. He proposed…or rather, he proposed a proposal. But I didn't say yes."

Red's smile faded. "Because this happened," she said, gesturing around the cabin.

"No…" Belle said meditatively. "Because I didn't say yes."

They were quiet for a moment, Red lingering at door.

"This is a bad idea," she said finally, her voice soft.

"What? Rejecting suitors? Or overthrowing the Sheriff?"

"_Talking_."

"Oh." They were quiet for another moment, but Red didn't leave. "I like talking," Belle said at last. It was part of the plan, true, but it was something else, too, something older. This wolf-girl was complicated; she was _different, _and after the provincial life Belle had led for eighteen years, her company was refreshing.

"You're afraid of the Sheriff finding out, aren't you?" Belle said quietly. "What does he have over you?"

"It's not about him knowing," Red insisted. "It's about making things as…painless as possible. For both of us."

"And has it been painless, hiding out here with no one to talk to for almost two years? Because I've been doing it for less than a twenty-four hours, and madness beckons already."

Belle saw that her words landed harder than she'd intended. Red looked her square in the eye. "You don't know madness. If you did you'd understand. I don't want you to haunt me when you're gone."

Belle became acutely aware of her environment then, the fading red stains, the scratches worn almost smooth.

"I wouldn't haunt _you_," she said uneasily. "I'd haunt the Sheriff. Tell him to stay out of other people's kitchens."

Red curled her lip. "I'm being serious."

"Well, so am I!" An edge crept into her voice. "I consider you an innocent, Red. Really, I do. You're a good person in a bad position. That's all. So let me absolve you of your guilt now—whatever happens, I don't blame you for it. I just don't want to spend my last days talking to myself."

Red looked at the ground, at the door, at the ceiling. Belle could feel her agitation from across the room. Her own breaths were shallow with hope.

"If we do this," Red said finally. "It won't change anything."

Belle knew better than to fall back on nervous humor this time. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean I can break a little rule like talking to you, but I still have to do my job at the end of the month."

"I'm not worried about that."

"Then you should be," Red said, almost laughing with disbelief. "If you knew what was coming, you'd never forgive me."

"Whatever happens," Belle repeated firmly. "And I don't think—"

"Belle." Red seemed to have a thousand euphemisms, but her next words were terrifyingly stark. "Let me tell you what _always _happens. You're going to beg for mercy when I come for you, and I'm going to kill you anyway. And I just need to know now that you understand that, because when I'm back in here cleaning up your bones, it's going to be a whole lot harder to live with myself if I think you died feeling betrayed."

Suddenly Belle thought of the elk, so lovingly butchered by those expert hands. Her heart shot up to her throat. The air seemed thin.

"You _are_ scared," Red sighed. "Thank the gods. I was beginning to think maybe you were mad after all. I'll leave you alone then, Belle, for good this time—"

"I'm not the only one who needs this, am I?" Belle said, steadying herself. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll drop the whole thing."

Red considered her for a long time. Wary, trapped.

"I'll be back with your breakfast," she said at last. "And, if, for some ungodly reason, you're still happy to see me, I guess I can keep you company for a bit."

She swept out of the shed before Belle could respond. As soon as the doors were shut and locked, Belle collapsed against the workbench.

Exhausting. That had been the most exhausting thing she'd ever done, maneuvering the other girl's emotions, holding back her own fear. But beneath that fatigue was a warm glow of triumph.

Red trusted her. The hardest part was done.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Whoops, accidentally got too close to this and now it's taken over my life. At least it resulted in a longer Red chapter.**

**Chapter 5**

**27 Days**

The girl was clearly insane.

None of the other patrons had wanted anything to do with Red. The good ones were indifferent. The bad ones tried to kill her. The worst had made advances, and they were always the most resentful in the end.

But at least resentful was a logical way to feel about your executioner. Cordiality was a wild card for Red, and altruism was a different game altogether. If she hadn't known better, she'd think the girl was up to something. But Red could almost always smell a lie. Belle's friendliness may have been inexplicable, but it wasn't faked.

Maybe her motivations would have been easier to understand if Red had grown up around more girls her own age. Granny's cottage was secluded, and they'd only ever made it into town a couple times a month. Red's general impression was that someone like Belle would scare easy. But Belle hadn't, and now she felt bad for even trying.

_Well, you had to be honest. She wasn't listening to reason. _

Then again, maybe she herself wasn't listening to reason. Was it really so unthinkable, that someone might not want to spend their last days in solitude? Gods only knew when she'd get another prisoner half as open-minded; she needed to stop looking this gift horse in the mouth.

_She could still be up to something. Something you just can't see yet, _the cynical voice warned, but Red shoved it away. It was sunny and unseasonably warm today, and she was going to enjoy this folly while she could. So she made her way to the little shed, a basket of warm biscuits in hand.

It wasn't until she started unlocking the chains on the door that Red realized how nervous she was. The feeling was so foreign it took her a second to recognize it. There'd been plenty of moments during the past two years of adrenaline-fueled panic or slow-burning dread, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd experienced the simple but quietly hellish anxiety of trying not to make a fool of herself.

Not that it _mattered_ how the girl saw her, of course. Not that she should care. It was just that it'd be nice to have someone think well of her, for a change.

The chains dropped to the ground, and Red stepped inside.

Belle was awake—did she _never_ sleep in?—and sitting up with perfect posture. Somehow she'd managed to keep her hair intact for a second night. She smiled and stood when she saw Red walk in.

"What's in the basket?" she asked, sweeping over on light feet.

"Biscuits," Red said warily, setting it on the bench. Were they really just going to pretend like they were two old friends? She wasn't going to be able to keep up that charade for long.

"For you too?" she went on.

"No, I already ate." No need to alienate her by saying what, exactly.

"Whatever's left of the elk," Belle said, seeing through her anyway. "I don't blame you. It was good."

_Well, I did give you the best cut, _Red thought. _That was a costly little moment of conscience._ Usually when she went hunting she saved the choicest portions, along with the hide or fur, for the Sheriff, who would in turn give her the kinds of goods she wasn't allowed to go into town to buy anymore. The meaner portions she gave to her patrons. Whatever they couldn't eat she saved for herself. For a while she'd tried to cook the meat into sandwiches and stews, but she'd stopped bothering a few months ago. It was better raw, and she couldn't keep pretending otherwise.

Belle was peeking underneath the napkin now, humming happily. Red felt like she was watching a woodland fairy picking flowers.

"Sleep well?" Red asked, since _How the hell are you in such a good mood? _seemed like a questionable way to start a conversation.

"Yes, actually, I turned up the soil in one of the corners so it's much softer to lie on now. And you can see I've patched up the window, too. I tore a couple pages from that herb dictionary—_just _the blank ones in the front and back, don't worry—and nailed them up to keep the draft out."

Red glanced up to see for herself while Belle sampled a biscuit. "Where'd you get a hammer and nails?" Red asked, horrified to think she'd been careless enough to leave things like that lying around.

"Well, the hammer was the book itself. Nice and heavy," Belle explained. "The nails came from the shed. There's a lot of loose ones. The damp will do that. I just pulled them out."

Red blinked. "That's…brilliant."

"My father's handy," she said, shrugging. "I learned everything from him. These are delicious, by the way."

Belle was halfway through one biscuit and holding another at the ready. Red felt a surge of delight at this minor victory, cut short an instant later when she remembered its context.

It was this shed, she realized. There was a reason she hated it. Dark, drafty, creaking, cramped—no matter how hard she scrubbed the wood it still smelled like the blood it'd been soaked in. If it were a person it would have been a madman, and Red could swear sometimes she heard it whispering.

She just couldn't keep talking to Belle in the place she was going to kill her.

The other girl leaned against the workbench, oblivious, already lost in the easy silence of a daydreamer.

"We could eat outside, if you want," Red said slowly.

Belle paused in her munching. "You mean, outside the shed?"

"Yeah, I mean. It's nice out. There was even a bird singing a second ago."

"Are you _supposed_ to let people outside the shed?"

"Nope." Red leaned against the door, letting in the sunlight. "Let's go."

Belle looked between her and the door, her face torn with disbelief.

"What if I run?"

"You're too smart for that."

Suspicion now, faint but unmistakable. "Why are you doing this?"

"I must be getting soft."

Belle's smile returned slowly, as if they'd just exchanged a particularly good secret. Gods, she was cryptic. Red let out a small breath of relief when she finally grabbed the basket and stepped outside. They walked over to the little log picnic table in the shade of a cottage. She felt more civilized already, sitting across from Belle like an equal rather than standing guard in a doorway like some lawman.

_Fool. That's your _job_. _

Red brushed the voice away.

For a moment they were quiet, Belle seeming to catalogue her surroundings. Taking in the clean air, the hot sun, the wide-trunked trees that surrounded them on every side. Of course, Red realized, she'd been brought here in the middle of the night, so this was her first time really seeing forest. Red tried to imagine the experience and failed. She'd lived here her whole life.

"I always knew I'd get here someday," Belle said finally. She pinned Red with those startling blue eyes, so much brighter in the light of day. "I wanted it more than anything."

_Be careful what you wish for, _Red thought, but she kept quiet. She wanted to hear more.

"Gaston ventures into Sherwood on a regular basis," she went on. "That suitor I was telling you about? He's the town huntsman now, but I don't think even he's gone this deep."

"Not many people do. It's not like it used to be."

"How'd it used to be?"

"Used to be a lot of families would live out here. Hunters, mostly, like my grandmother. You didn't used to have to assign the job to one person. But the forest turned mean awhile back, so all the families left. Or at least, that's what my Granny said happened. I was too little to remember. _The forest turned mean, _that's what she told me when I asked. The underbrush got thicker and the paths grew crooked and strange things started coming out at night. We get this fog on summer mornings and people would go missing, and winter brings the wolves.

"Granny says it's the Queen's fault for turning things. She thinks her dark magic's affecting the whole realm. _This is a dark wood now, Red, so you hit first and ask questions later_. She was always saying things like that. She'd sit out here with her crossbow, shooting at the ravens because she thought they were the Queen's spies." Red leaned back against the side of the cottage, shrugging. "She can be a little crazy."

She glanced at Belle and did a double-take when she saw how wide her eyes were. Suddenly Red could picture exactly what she looked like at ten, hearing a good ghost story, and the thought made Red smiled inwardly.

"Your grandmother," Belle said. "She's the old woman who disappeared, isn't she? Everyone in the village thinks the beast killed you both. But obviously you _are _the beast, and you talk about your grandmother like she's still alive..."

_So where is she? _The unspoken question hung between them. Red looked off, her chest tugging with shame. But what did it matter, if Belle knew? She wouldn't live long to judge her.

"She left once she realized what I was," Red said finally. "I have no idea where she went. I haven't seen her in nineteen months."

Belle scowled. "You mean you weren't always like this? I thought lycanthropy was inherited."

"It is, but you don't start turning until you're grown. Looking back now, there were plenty of other signs. But neither of us saw it coming. Maybe we just didn't want to. It skipped her generation, you see. We thought maybe it'd skip me too because my father was human." She hesitated, hoping Belle wouldn't ask about her parents. She only had a few answers on that front, and none of them good. But fortunately the other girl seemed to sense her reluctance.

"So it's just you out here," she said, clarifying.

"Well," Red said lightly, "Now it's _us_."

Belle's heart raced for a few beats at that, and Red worried suddenly it'd come across as a threat. But it was excitement, not fear, she read in Belle's eyes. Red turned to face her, hiding another smile.

"What about you?" she asked. "What would you be doing if you weren't stuck here?"

Belle snorted, starting in on her last biscuit. "I'd be stuck at home."

"Come on now, there are a million things to do in the city."

"Our little outlying village hardly counts as 'the city.'"

Red raised an eyebrow. "Anyplace with a decent tavern is 'the city' to me."

"Well," Belle chuckled, "I was bored there. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love living with my father; I love his work, but everyone else—" She paused, searching. "It's like they have no _vision_," she said finally.

Red scowled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they're all happy to walk the most well-worn path. No one wants to leave or change the things that need changing or try anything different just to see how it is. I guess Gaston has his adventures, but he wants someone to listen to them, not share them. That's what I want to do—have adventures, even if I have to have them alone. I want my life to be a story I'd stay up all night reading. Most the other girls my age think I'm destined to be a crazy old spinster. They just want an easy marriage. And there's a classic kind of beauty to that, I suppose…" Belle shrugged. "It's just not for me."

Red watched her for a moment, feeling the same simple wonder she'd experienced when she discovered a singularly rare flower while hunting one night, its petals glowing with a moon-pale light and ringing like a wine glass in the wind.

_What _are _you?_

"So you don't believe in true love, then?" Red asked at last.

Belle laughed a little. "I believe in good books. They're far more reliable." Red didn't answer, and she turned to her. "Do _you_ believe in true love?"

_Peter, _she thought, and flinched, as she always did.

First love. First kill.

"Maybe for normal people," she said, trying to sound casual. "Not for me."

"I'm _glad _you're not normal," Belle insisted. "I have had my fill of normal people."

"But you've gone too far along the other extreme with me. You need to find someone who doesn't growl in their sleep."

Belle grinned. "You really do that?"

"Sometimes I wake myself up."

She tilted her head, studying her. "The stories never mention things like that."

_Well, no one ever lives to tell them, _Red thought. She searched for a better way to say it.

"The stories probably leave out a lot," she decided.

They were quiet for a moment. Belle continued to study her. After a moment Red looked off self-consciously. She could never hold her gaze for long.

"Do you like it?" Belle asked finally.

"Being a wolf?"

She nodded.

Red hesitated. She loved that she was more alive, loved that she could see in the dark and smell the wind. She loved running and hunting. She loved that she didn't have to be afraid of anyone. If she was being honest, she felt more herself now than she'd ever felt before the change. But.

_Now I have to kill people._

_Get to, _a part of her corrected, and she shoved the thought away in almost blind panic. Yes, she liked being a wolf.

That was the problem.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Belle said, cheeks flushing.

"No, you can ask, it's just that I've never really thought about it before. Well, no. That's a lie. I think about it all the time. I've just never had to give anyone an answer."

"Well, it's not as if you owe me an answer now. But the way I see it, it seems like it's only a curse from our point of view. From your point of view…" She laughed a little self-consciously. "Why should a god be ashamed of her power?"

"I'm not a god," Red muttered uncomfortably. Gods' powers were guided by wisdom. She was just…chaos. A reckless, rabid thing. "Not even close."

"I'm just making a point here," Belle amended. "Better the hammer than the nail."

Red narrowed her eyes. "You and your hammers and nails." Belle smirked, and Red felt herself relax a little. "Go on, ask me something else. Ask me whatever."

The response was immediate. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen."

"Do you age?"

"Slowly."

"Does it hurt?"

Red thought about that one, then shook her head. The turn was frightening, yes. You lost control of your limbs, you shook as if with a fever, you watched yourself change and couldn't do anything about it. But underneath it all was a roaring exhilaration, one that drowned out any pain.

"It feels like the chills you get on a hot day," Red said, finally finding the words for it. "But deeper."

"And as soon as you're a wolf you black out?"

"Pretty much. Sometimes there are moments when it feels like I'm breaking through, but most mornings I wake up and don't remember a thing."

Belle sat up a bit. "And…does it ever go the other way around? Does it ever feel like the wolf breaks through while you're human?"

Red froze.

_Always. Every day. This morning. Right now. This is the longest I've talked with anybody in over a year and gods help me your throat is perfect and my teeth are starting to itch._

Belle shrank back, holding up her hands. "I can see I've crossed the line."

"No," Red said roughly, forcing herself to be present. She couldn't scare her, couldn't _lose _her, not so soon. "It's not that. You just…hit the nail on the head."

She caught her eye, hopeful, and a second later Belle's smirked returned.

"How quickly I've corrupted you."

"I mean it though," Red said, taking a deep breath. "This was a good idea. I'm sorry I tried to scare you out of it. You're forcing me to act like a person again."

"So it is a struggle then." Belle tilted her head. "You need to write a book about this stuff, Red. I'd be the first to read it."

Red snorted. "You'd also be the last. No one cares if their demons have demons."

Belle smiled again at that, that same quiet, cryptic expression that suggested she saw, and understood. Red smiled back uncertainly and pulled her knees up to her chest, waiting for the tension to leave her shoulders.

_A good idea, _she told herself._ Like pulling a broken tooth is a good idea. Like cauterizing a wound is a good idea. In the long run I'll be glad I did it._

_But sometime soon, this is going to hurt. _


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Continued thanks for the kind reviews! Keep letting me know what you like and I'll keep trying to include more of it. **

**Chapter 6**

**26 Days**

The third morning Belle woke up in the shed, she expected to be there. It wasn't that she'd grown comfortable with her situation, but at least it no longer surprised her. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she even had it better than normal prisoners. She had sunlight and privacy and quiet.

And she had much better company.

In a weird way, it felt as if yesterday, talking with Red, was the first day of her real life, the one Belle had been waiting to live since she was a little girl. Red was the opposite of everything she'd left behind; she was unpredictable, independent, refreshingly frank. There was an edge to her that came from growing up outside the city, and the curse had honed it even sharper. Belle, with her starving curiosity, had been drawn to her as a vine to the sun, and found herself similarly strengthened.

Red, of course, had been starving in a more fundamental way. Maybe that's why she'd grown so restless towards the end of their conversation. Eventually Belle had gone back to the shed of her own accord, not wanting to push a good thing too far, and when they'd tried again over dinner she'd avoided any difficult questions. Instead they discussed Maurice and Granny, trying to deduce which of the two was crazier and ultimately settling for a draw. Red had looked much more comfortable for that. Belle supposed it was easier to ignore the wolf when they weren't chatting about it at length.

_Not that it should be ignored. Obviously that's not working. You can't make something go away by pretending it doesn't exist. In fact, I bet that just makes the wolf more hostile, like the caged animal it is. Maybe this morning I should tell her that—_

No. Belle would take her time with this. She still had enough of it.

Red came to the shed a few moments later, poking her head in hesitantly. Her eyes shifted, but she forced a smile.

"Morning." she said.

Belle narrowed her eyes. "What happened."

"How did you know something happened?" Red asked, scowling.

"Because you look more sheepish than wolfish today." She gave her a quick once-over. "Where's your basket?"

"Well, that's the thing," Red admitted. "There was a problem with breakfast. You might want to come see for yourself."

_Oh, gods, this should be good. _Belle stood, stretched, and followed her out.

"I was trying to make eggs," Red continued as they made their way to the cottage. "It went wrong."

"Can eggs…go wrong, really?"

"You be the judge of that."

Belle smelled smoke as soon as they got inside. A small fire blazed from the little black pan on the stove. Red frowned a bit.

"Shit. It got worse."

Belle, alarmed, scanned the kitchen, found a lid, and smothered the fire before it could spread. When she lifted the lid again a blossom of smoke unfurled and filled the room.

Belle laughed a little madly as her panic receded. "You started a grease fire," she said, fanning the air in front of her. "How did you manage to start a grease fire?"

Red stared at the pouring smoke, finally starting to register a certain level of alarm herself. "Gods, I don't know. Could that've spread?"

"It could've burned the whole place down. Then we'd both be sleeping in the shed."

Her alarm deepened. "Damn," she swore under breath.

"Don't worry. I did it once, too," Belle said, half-laughing, half-coughing. "I cook breakfast for my father every morning. It was the bacon that got me. Though, in my defense, I was thirteen." She made her way to the table to catch her breath, and after a moment Red joined her, sitting on its surface. They watched the smoke dissipate slowly.

"I'm sorry," Red blurted finally, looking dejected.

"Don't be. It's good to start your day with a little jolt," Belle said. "I take it you weren't the head chef of this house?"

Red relaxed a tiny bit. "No, that was Granny. She tried to teach me, but I never cared enough to listen. I guess I probably should've."

"The biscuits were great."

"The biscuits were easy."

"_Eggs _are supposed to be easy."

"Says who? You have to mess with them the whole time."

Belle sighed. She was hopeless. "How did you keep the other prisoners fed?"

"Bread and water. Raw veggies. Sometimes smoked meat. Meat's much lower stakes. You can cook it outside."

"Alright then, but what about _you_? Or have you lost all taste for cooked meals?"

"No, I love food. I just hate cooking. So I don't."

"A classic tragedy." But it wasn't lost on Belle that the girl had been trying for her anyway, and there was something endearing about her disappointment now. Belle considered the well-stocked kitchen. "I'll finish breakfast today, Red. Actually, better yet, I'll show you how to do it. Teach a man to fish, and all that."

Red's alarm returned. "You don't have to do that."

"I _want _to."

"What if I don't want to?"

Belle was already up and moving. "They sent me here to feed you," she shot over her shoulder. "You might as well let me do it."

It was Red's turn to sigh. "You have a hell of a sense of humor," she muttered. But a moment later she sidled up against the wall beside the stove, arms crossed, watching as Belle started over with a fresh pan.

"Do you have butter?" Belle asked.

"A bit."

"Good. Let's have it." Red raised an eyebrow, waiting just a beat longer than necessary, then sauntered off to fetch it.

"I guess since I'm supposed to be learning I should ask what this is for?" she said when she returned.

"This is instead of lavish amounts of grease," Belle said brightly. "Less likely to burst into flames."

"Granny said grease is a cook's best friend."

"I'm going to make the argument that 'continued life' is an even better one."

Again with the raised eyebrow. Belle waved a tomato in her general direction. "Here," she went on. "Do you mind dicing this for me?"

"Do I even have a choice?"

Belle smiled behind her bangs as she scrambled the eggs in a little bowl. She could see Red out of the corner of her eye, hacking at the tomato with more than a little distaste. There was none of the artistry she'd displayed skinning the elk, none of the patience or loving attention to detail. She was just a girl with a very large knife.

Belle gave her an onion next.

"This is too many vegetables," Red objected.

"I haven't even added the green ones yet."

Red grumbled something inaudibly. A moment later, though, she returned with her finished handiwork, unable to hide a satisfied smirk. The onions were uneven, and the tomatoes looked like murder, but Belle rolled her eyes indulgently anyway. _At least she stopped resisting._

Red resumed her earlier position against the wall while Belle poured the egg yolks and mixed in the toppings. She let them sizzle in the pan for a moment, then, shooting off a quick prayer, jerked the pan forward and flipped them into an omelet.

Red stood up a little straighter, smirk dropping. "_This _is supposed to be easy?" she demanded.

"No," Belle admitted, grinning with relief. "The flipping part takes practice. But I can show you."

"I doubt that."

Belle huffed. "Just come here."

Red stepped forward warily as Belle made space for her in front of the cooktop. Belle slid the first omelet onto a plate and placed the empty pan in front of her.

"Add the butter first. Just like that. Perfect. Swirl it around." Belle poured in the eggs, then sprinkled on the toppings.

"Now what." Red gripped the little pan handle with two hands, as if holding back a viper.

"Just let it cook for a minute."

"I feel like an ass."

"That means you're doing it right."

Then, when the sizzle reached fever pitch, Belle slid in next to her and wrapped her own hands around Red's. The other girl's breaths were shallow against the back of her neck, sending a reflexive prickle down her spine. Belle swallowed.

"On three, okay?"

"Gods, this is a bad idea—"

"One…two…" Belle jerked the pan up, slamming her eyes shut. Red swore. But between the two of them they'd been too strong, and half the eggs flipped back and slopped over their fingers. What was left pooled sadly in the corner of the pan.

They stood in stunned silence for a moment. Then Belle stepped back, clearing her throat. "Those'll be mine then."

"I'm not going to say it."

"Okay, if we need to try again just to prove a _point_—"

"No, don't," Red insisted, grabbing the pan from Belle's hands before she could dump its contents. "It's like you knew I like them raw."

Her smirk had returned, but her eyes were genuine, and there was a new warmth to them that Belle hadn't noticed before. She returned the smile gratefully.

"I'm just…going to go wash my hands at the pump," she said, flustered. "If that's alright, of course."

"Faster if you lick them," Red suggested.

Belle took that as permission.

* * *

Belle sank deeper into the washtub, feeling an almost religious kind of peace as the water washed the last three days from her skin.

The eggs had left a mess on her dress, so Red had offered one of hers. Belle had fretted that she'd get it dirty, so Red had offered her a bath. It'd been that easy. Suddenly, everything between them seemed easier. Belle had clicked with people before, but this was starting to feel…elemental.

_Because the circumstances are more extreme, _Belle reminded herself. _Everything's heightened. Don't let it distract you._

Getting Red to trust her was part of the plan. Getting too attached herself was not. Belle forced herself to remember that the longer she stayed here, the more danger she was in. She had to get back to her father.

Still, she'd never had much in the way of a good friend before, and now that she seemed maybe, finally, to have found one, she figured she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

And the water really did feel divine.

Red was around the corner on the other side of the cottage now, practicing with her longbow. Every few seconds Belle could hear the twang of the bowstring, followed by a soft thumpas an arrow hit the sack of straw. After enough of these her curiosity got the best of her, and Belle reached for the overlarge blanket Red had left for her and got out of the tub. She dried herself quickly, the cold whistling over her skin, and slipped into the dress Red had left hanging on the line. Red was taller than she was, so it dragged, but it had a clean, worn feel that warmed her instantly. She dried the ends of her hair once more before heading over to the picnic table to watch Red practice.

"Feel better?" Red asked without turning.

"Much," Belle agreed. _Twang, thump. _Red was clearly in her element again. "Who taught you how to shoot? Granny?"

"Granny used a crossbow. The longbow I learned from…a boy named Peter." Something about the question must have caught Red off-guard, because her arrow went wide. Red scowled, then grabbed a new arrow and kept shooting.

"He must have been a good archer," Belle said carefully, not sure what this was.

"The best." Red hesitated, seeming to fight with herself, then went on. "We were together for a long time. I thought it was true love."

_Thought? _"Can I—ask what happened?" He must've abandoned her, like Granny, or found someone new, or—

Red snorted. "I ate him." Belle flinched. "Belle…" She lowered her bow then. "I _devoured _him. There was nothing left but his bloody clothes. Usually the wolf leaves something, not much, but something, but with him…" Red laughed darkly and notched another arrow. "Like I said, true love obviously isn't for people like me."

Belle watched as she pulled the bowstring taut, sunlight and shadow playing over the equally tensed planes of her face. Perfect balance, perfect control. The arrow flew. And yet, somehow, the moment was fragile as candied glass. Belle thought she had never seemed so powerful—or so powerless.

"Red. I'm so sorry."

Red let out a shaky sigh. "It was a long time ago. I've never told anyone that. I thought it would hurt. But it just feels distant."

"It's not your fault."

"It is," Red said bluntly. "But that doesn't mean I can't make up for it. This contract with the Sheriff, I used to think that was making up for it. Protecting people from other monsters. Using my curse for good. Then he sends me you." She shrugged. "It's all shot to hell."

Belle remembered the words she'd found carved in the shed and felt a sudden punch to the gut. _She doesn't know. I'm not the only innocent the Sheriff's sent here, and she doesn't know. When did he start using her to make those who spoke against him disappear? When did he abandon whatever integrity this arrangement once had?_

_And why did he keep it all a secret?_

Because he knew she'd fight back.

"It's not your fault," Belle repeated quietly. "None of it is."

Red snorted. "Well, maybe if you keep saying it I'll start to believe you." She sighed heavily, her quarrel now empty. She yanked the arrows out of the target one by one. "You want to come learn how to shoot this thing?"

The sudden offer surprised Belle, and it took a moment for the words to sink in. She had trouble holding back her excitement when she did. There was an art to archery she had always admired—deadly, true, but not without beauty.

"Right now?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes, right now. I'll show you like Peter showed me." Warmth had crept back into her smile. "Come here."

Belle walked over with hurried steps, the grass cool on her bare feet.

"I should warn you, I've never done this before," she admitted.

"Don't worry," Red chuckled, handing her the bow. "I promise it's _easy._"

She stood back as Belle took the arrow and fumbled it onto the bowstring. Belle struggled to keep it flush to the bow as she raised her arms. The thing was almost as tall as she was.

"Steady. That's good," Red said. _Liar. _"This bow has a pretty heavy draw, so just pull it back as much as you can. The target's not far."

Belle pulled, arms shaking. Pricks of sweat broke out on her brow. The bow barely bent, and the arrow continued to stray.

"Steady," Red repeated, and a moment later she was there, her approach so silent Belle hadn't even heard her footsteps. She stood close behind Belle and doubled her position, gripping the bow just beneath Belle's fist, gripping the bowstring between Belle's fingers. She pulled back smoothly for both of them.

_Gods, she's strong._

"Now aim…"

They adjusted slightly. And this time it was Red's hands that were the sure ones, and this time the breaths that fell against Belle's neck were even and slow. And then, so low Belle felt it more than she heard it, so subtle she didn't think Red even realized she was doing it—a keen and quiet growl.

_Belle, I devoured him. _

Her heart went mad in its cage.

"…and, let go." The bowstring exploded from their hands, releasing the tension. Belle cried out in surprise.

"That stung!"

"It'll do that," Red said. "But look where it ended up." The arrow had punched through the target and into the tree behind it. Belle squinted, head still spinning.

"That far?"

"Farther, if you want." Red handed her another arrow. "Again?"

Belle took it. Her heart was finally slowing. She found her smile and nodded.

"Listen, I've been thinking," Red began as Belle nocked the next arrow. "You're welcome to Granny's bed tonight, if you want it. There's no reason for you to keep living like a prisoner when you didn't do anything wrong."

Belle hesitated. Even at her most optimistic, she hadn't expected this level of freedom.

"What, you're not afraid I'm going to kill you in your sleep?" she asked lightly.

"Well, now that I've seen your skill set I'm not afraid of you killing anyone," Red quipped. "But I'd still have to use the irons so you don't run away."

_There it is. _Belle deflated a bit as her whirling escape plans came to a halt. Still, surely this was a good sign. Red trusted her more every day. Maybe tomorrow she would open up about the finer details of the curse.

"It'd be worth it to sleep in a bed again," Belle said at last.

"Okay, then." Red smiled, looking relieved. So this wasn't just charity. She'd wanted it, too. Belle felt a certain amount of relief herself.

Red stepped back and took a deep breath. "I think you're more of a crossbow type," she said. "Give this one more shot, then we'll switch."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Redundant but necessary thanks for the reviews, y'all have no idea how encouraging those are. And intuitive :). On another note, if you're into playlists, I highly recommend "No Light, No Light," by Florence + the Machine. I mean, just generally for life, but especially for these next couple chapters.**

**TW: Just a head's up that there's some brief/mild discussion of suicide in this one. **

**Chapter 7**

**25 Days**

The decision to move Belle to the cottage was a good one if only because now Red could wake up to the smell of breakfast being cooked. For one moment during that soft haze between asleep and awake, she thought she was a little girl again, and Granny was making scones. Then she blinked and came back to the present.

For once, it wasn't disagreeable.

Red sauntered out of her room and found Belle sitting at the kitchen table, reading a cookbook. She snorted softly at the sight. Belle looked up.

"You're awake."

"I'm awake," Red agreed, rubbing her eyes. _She's probably been up for an hour. _"Don't you think it's a little dangerous to be cooking with your hands tied?"

"Oh, these? I just throw them on when I don't care what I look like."

The shackles ran from one wrist to the other, then down the middle to connect both ankles. Red was relieved Belle hadn't tried to run. Relieved for selfish reasons, sure, but unselfish ones too: straying into Sherwood Forest, at night, with hands and feet bound, was all but a death sentence. The wolves would have made a meal of her. The bandits might have done worse. It was a strange thing, feeling protective of someone who probably would have felt safer with almost anyone else. But that's how it'd become. The better Red got to know Belle, the luckier she felt to have met her—she was gentle without being weak, strong without being cruel, open-minded, open-hearted, soft in a world that had hardened Red long ago. It was as if, after months of cringing in the dark, Red had finally stumbled across a bright but delicate flame—and suddenly the idea of being alone without it again was unbearable.

Still, the sight of the chains, their quiet _clink_, was almost enough to ruin the morning, and Belle's charitable attitude only made them more insulting. Red swallowed the indignation rising in her throat and went back to grab the keys from under her pillow.

"I'm sorry it's like this," Red muttered, unlocking her wrists first, then bending down to unlock her ankles. Belle tensed a little, as she always did when Red got close.

"I should be thanking you," Belle countered. "Granny's bed is better than the one I had back home. And I'm sure this is against the rules."

Red laughed dryly, kicking the irons away. "Yeah, apparently I'm not too good with those." In fact, somewhere in the back of her mind, Red had begun quietly reanalyzing some of those rules. There was really only the one that mattered at the end of the day. If she broke it now by letting Belle go, the Sheriff would try to have Red killed—of that she was certain. She was less certain, though, that he'd be able to find anyone who could actually do the job. After the huntsman, she'd never been tempted to risk the nobleman's wrath again, but now…the alternative was becoming unthinkable…maybe, just _maybe…_

_Stop. There are still a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea._

_Such as._

_One. If Belle ever tried to go home the Sheriff would hang her anyway, and you know she'd never leave her father. Two. Gods only know how many _other _innocents the wolf will take if it has to stray into the village again. Three. If the Sheriff really wants to kill you, he'll find a way. Your luck can't last forever._

_It wasn't luck that killed the huntsman._

_Yeah, but it wasn't anything you want to let out again, either._

"My arms are sore from the archery," Belle commented, breaking in on Red's thoughts. "But Gaston always said pain is just weakness leaving the body."

Red blinked, joining the present. "He sounds intense."

"He's nothing but. Are we practicing more today?"

Red had to hold back a smile at Belle's enthusiasm. "I guess you could say that. I was planning on going hunting today. The Sheriff's tradesmen come next week, and I need to have some furs for them. They take a few days to dry. You could practice when I get back."

"Oh. I see."

Red raised an eyebrow. "What, did you want to come?"

"No, of course not, I would just slow you down."

_A lie_. "You want to come. Gods, I've turned you into a killing machine already."

"_No_," Belle insisted, getting up to check on the scones. "I just want to see more of the forest. I don't want to kill anything."

"And you won't mind if I do?"

"Only if you don't mind me tagging along."

Red glanced out the window, considering it. It wasn't that she wouldn't like the company. She and Peter had gone hunting together all the time (strange, Red thought, how she didn't flinch anymore when she thought of him—as if, in finally telling someone about that night, some deep-set splinter in her chest had started to work its way free). She wasn't even worried that Belle would scare the game away. Red figured she was competent enough to make up for it.

No, it was more a question of whether or not the wolf would be on its best behavior. Red tended to give herself over to its instincts when she hunted, and she didn't know if she wanted Belle to see that side of her. Or even if she trusted that side of her around anyone else.

But, of course, leaving Belle behind would mean locking her up again, just then the thought of that made Red sick.

"Right," Belle said slowly, setting the scones down. "I'll sit this one out then."

"No, I think you should come," Red blurted.

She narrowed her eyes. "You _think _I should come, or you _want _me to come?"

"I _need _you to come." Red grabbed her wrist lightly before she could wander off to get the butter. "Otherwise I'm going to worry about you out here by yourself."

Belle's mouth curved up in that cryptic half-smile. "You worry about me?"

"Well, I mean…yeah, it's not like—"

"Since when? Don't you think that's a liability?"

Red raised her hands in surrender, surprised to find her own heart beating hard. "Listen, all I'm saying is there could be bandits. I don't know. Just something to consider."

"Maybe they'd let me go."

"Maybe. If they were nice. I've never met a nice bandit."

"Rumor has it there are a few these days."

Red gave a tense shrug, and Belle laughed. "Fine then, I guess I'll take my chances with the ravenous werewolf in the ever-darkening depths of the haunted forest. Since that's so much safer."

Red wilted. "Hell, when you put it like that—"

"I can't wait." And with that Belle floated back off to get the utensils. Red just watched her go, bewildered. Every time she thought she had a handle on Belle, the girl slipped through her fingers like the pixie dust she was.

"How do you do that?" Red asked when Belle returned.

"Do what?"

Red leaned forward. "We started out with you begging me, and then you totally turned the tables so I was begging you."

"You have a very generous definition of 'begging.'"

"And you have this way with words. It's uncanny. I never used to take it seriously, the pen versus the sword thing, but now I can see it's like—" Red sputtered, struggling with words herself. _Like you wield them. Like they hide you. Like I'm vulnerable in ways I never even realized because you can read me like a book but I can never tell what you're actually _thinking.

"Red." Belle chuckled and slid the scones across the table. "Eat your breakfast."

* * *

The moved through the forest on cat-quiet feet—though Belle was less like a panther stalking its prey and more like a housecat trotting eagerly to a bowl of cream. She crunched across the pine needles underfoot and apologized every time she snapped a twig. Red could only chuckle quietly to herself.

"Are you _sure _I'm not slowing you down?" Belle fretted. "Or being too loud?"

"You're fine. I'll let you know when we're close." Red was tracking the scent of a fox who she suspected was out hunting himself; she could smell the fainter trail of the rabbit he was after. There was something darkly thrilling about stalking another predator, something that stroked the wolf's savage ego. It was one thing to take down a rabbit or a deer, those were meant to be hunted, but to take down a cave lion, a bear, a _person_—

_Stop. Be normal._

Red licked her lips nervously and adjusted the quiver across her back. Belle had left her bow because she didn't want to use it. For Red, it had felt like a necessity, something to remind her that she was still a person herself.

"Is it hard, what you're doing?" Belle continued. "Because you're making it look easy."

Red's smile flickered back on. She was glad she had Belle to tether her to the real world. "No, it's not easy. Scents can be subtle, and animals can be crafty. No one wants to get caught. But I guess sometimes you do get into this place of deep concentration and it feels like… you separate. Your body settles into all these instincts, and in your mind you're just—I don't know—watching yourself. An hour will go by and feel five minutes. But then all of a sudden it's time to make a move and it feels like time shuts down completely. You've never existed outside that moment. I always enjoyed the rush, even before the curse. Everyone does. But now…I mean, if you took that moment, made it flesh and bone, that's what the wolf _is_, all the time, that's what it lives for. It doesn't kill because it's hungry; it kills because it finds it intoxicating." Red paused. "Probably you're wishing you stayed home right about now."

"Not yet," Belle said brightly. If she was repulsed, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. "But now you've got me wondering—if you don't mind me asking—if the wolf is such an…impassioned butcher, then why does it only stop with the one prisoner every month? What keeps it from moving on to the village afterwards anyway?"

Red drummed her fingers against her leg. They were getting into things she would rather have left undiscussed. It hard enough to talk about the wolf objectively, as a condition, but to dive into its mind like this…

"I don't think you want to know," she said in a low voice.

"I asked."

Red kept walking in unyielding silence. She refused to look back, but she could feel the other girl's patient stare on the nape of her neck.

_If she's willing to listen, you owe her the truth. Who is she going to tell, anyway?_

Red's heart lurched.

"It's a question of quality versus quantity," she said at last. "When the wolf wakes up and finds only one or two potential kills, it knows it has to take its time with them. It's thorough—almost tender. It savors the moment and tries to make it last. Usually there's not much left in the morning. Quality." Red swallowed, switching her bow from one sweaty palm to the other. "But when the wolf wakes up and doesn't find anything, it searches all night until it does. It sniffs out populated areas, or groups of travelers, or soldiers on the march. And it wants to sample them all. It's that same rush, but multiplied times ten or twenty, bright and fast instead of slow and simmering. There's more of the dead in the morning, but there's also…more _of_ the dead, in the morning. Quantity." Red shrugged. "The first always seemed like the lesser of two evils. I don't know where I could run where there wouldn't be _some _group of people in danger. At least this I can control. But sometimes I wonder if the greatest good would just be to finish the job the huntsman started." Suddenly Red was spilling, and she didn't know how to stop. "I even tried to once. I know how to do it. But I couldn't. I didn't even really want to. There's a part of me that's happy, even like this— _especially _like this. And when it came down to it, I just didn't have the courage. Sometimes I hate myself for it." Red, now self-conscious, felt her face warm. "I'm sorry I'm even telling you all this. It's way more than you asked—"

Red felt a hand on her shoulder then. Belle stopped her and spun her around. Her eyes were unflinching, her face unreadable.

"Red." There was an edge in her voice. "Listen to me. There is _nothing _more courageous than living with a heavy burden. It takes audacity to even get up in the morning. Don't think yourself weak because you walked away. I have no doubt it's the strongest thing you've ever done."

Red tried to hold Belle's gaze and failed. Suddenly it hurt to breathe. Red had never understood why sometimes kindness hurt more than cruelty.

"You're too charitable," she said finally. "It's going to get you killed one day."

"And you're not charitable enough," Belle replied, and the edge in her voice sharpened. "You're going to get _yourself_ killed one day. It scares me to hear you talk like that. You were the wolf's first victim, Red. You deserve saving, too."

The pain found its way to Red's throat. She struggled to speak. "I can't be saved."

And now Belle looked genuinely vexed. "Maybe if you have that attitude, yeah. But I disagree. Sit." She snapped her fingers and pointed at the ground.

Red stared. "We're still tracking the fox—"

"Forget the damn fox for ten minutes." She planted herself in the dirt and pulled Red down next to her by the hand. "I need you to listen to me."

Red began to argue, then thought better of it. She folded her legs and clutched her bow a little tighter, trying to ignore her clawing hunger.

"I think the wolf can be controlled," Belle said. Red blinked, waiting for more.

"Well, it can't," she said a little lamely after a moment. "It's not like I haven't tried."

"I think you've been going about it the wrong way. You think of the wolf as an adversary, something to overcome or at the very least keep hidden. And when you're at war with yourself like that, both sides are destined to lose." She leaned forward. "But what I haven't seen from you yet is any attempt to work _with _the wolf. To accept it as part of who you are. Because there's no doubt to me now that these two sides of you are beyond separation—it's like two streaks of dye come together to create a different color entirely. I see it in the way the wolf shapes your behavior as a girl, not the occasional outbursts, either, but the way you move, the way you act, the way you see the world. Why wouldn't the girl affect the wolf just as strongly? It fears people because you fear people. It acts like a monster because you assume you're a monster. It claws away at its confines because _you _feel trapped. And you don't remember your wolf's time because the whole idea of having a wolf's time is too painful for you to think about, so you block it out. But I think if you opened yourself up to it, you'd be able control your turns. I really do. And if you reached _that_ level of understanding with yourself, that perfect balance…gods, Red. You'd be unstoppable."

Belle had become breathless. For a moment, sitting there in the remote quiet of Sherwood Forest, Red believed her. Her pulse quickened with the words, flirting with hope for the first time in what felt like years. There was an undeniable logic to what she said.

But experience had taught her to be cautious. Even now the wolf riled underneath her skin, urging her to bite.

"You don't believe me," Belle said in response to her silence.

Red sighed. "I want to. It's just…not that easy."

"I never said it was easy. Your resistance strikes me as reflexive. And learning to ignore reflexes is never easy."

"Ignore the reflexes that keep the beast in check twenty-nine days out of the month?" Red glanced at her. "You have enough faith in this theory not to consider the consequences if you're wrong?"

Belle shrugged. "If I'm wrong, and the wolf can't be controlled, then I'm a goner anyway."

Red clenched her jaw. _I'd rather die than let that happen. _

Maybe Belle was right. This was the only way they both got out of this alive.

"How did you figure it out?" Red asked quietly. "All this time, no one's ever thought of the wolf as anything but the enemy."

Now it was Belle's turn to sigh. "I read. I read too much, to be honest. I've been reading you since I got here. You have an incredible story, Red, and so long as I'm here, I want to help you write it." She smiled dryly. "And I wouldn't mind surviving it, either." Her voice had softened, but her eyes were still determined. "So, will you humor me with this? Do you believe me enough to try it?"

"What does 'trying it' even look like?"

"It means trusting the wolf enough not the flinch away from it all the time. It means letting it out and seeing what happens. It means giving it the love it deserves as a part of who you are."

She just didn't get it. The wolf was not a _pet. _"Belle. What if I hurt you?"

"And what if you save my life?" She held out her hand. "We're starting now. Give me the bow."

Red glanced down at the longbow and saw that she'd been gripping it so tightly there were hairline cracks in the wood. "Why?"

"Because we both know you hunt better without it, and you're just holding onto it to discourage your better half."

"_Better_?"

"Certainly less argumentative."

_Fine. _Red loosened her grip and handed the bow and quiver over. "If it goes bad, don't hesitate to use this," she ordered.

"Good thing I'm such a deadshot."

Red rolled her eyes, but she already felt better. If Belle was joking, she really wasn't that worried.

And maybe she was even right.

Red relaxed her shoulders, closed her eyes, loosened, ever so slightly, the fist that was her mind. Scents grew sharper, sounds became intimate.

And time shut down completely.

* * *

"I have something for you."

Belle looked up. She was lying on her stomach on Granny's bed, daydreaming. It was early, only just dark out, but they were both exhausted. It'd been a long day in the forest and a long hike home. And Belle had been right. Red hadn't turned voluntarily—nothing so ridiculous as that—but she'd given the wolf more control than she had in weeks, and when she had stopped fighting it, it had seemed to stop fighting back.

And for that, Red thought, Belle deserved something for her trouble.

"A book," Red went on, leaning against the doorframe. "Like, a real one, with a story. So you don't have to keep reading dictionaries and cookbooks."

Belle's eyes lit up, and Red felt a tug of satisfaction. "Is it yours?"

"You could say that. I borrowed it."

"Ah."

"I'll give it back one day," Red said hurriedly. "But until then, I mean, you might as well have it."

"Well, I won't argue with that. What's it about?"

Red glanced down at the worn red binding, realizing that she didn't actually know. She'd started it early in her ordeal, hoping the words would provide an escape. But she'd never been able to slip into stories the way people like Belle seemed to, and after a couple weeks it had just seemed like another empty chore.

"I forgot. I never finished it. I think maybe there's a magic dagger involved? I kind of skimmed past the intro."

Belle sat up, chuckling. "Bring it here and we can read it."

"_We_? Since when is reading a two-player game?"

"Well, you want to know what happens, don't you?"

Red couldn't care less, but she saw the earnest look on Belle's face, softened by the low-burning light, and felt her resistance thaw.

"Maybe just a couple chapters," she muttered. "But come into my room. There's better light."

Belle grinned excitedly and dashed across the hallway with more energy than Red had seen from her all day. She arranged herself on the far side of the bed and was already plumping up the pillows. Red smirked and crawled onto the bed next to her. She let out an involuntary sigh as she stretched her tired spine, curling her arches and cracking her toes.

"Red, that's disgusting."

"My better half made me do it."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Okay, so we'll trade chapters. How does that sound?"

"Like I'm going to fall asleep before it's my turn."

"Don't you dare." Belle glowered, looking ready to whack her upside the head, and only when she was satisfied that Red was only pretending did she crack open the cover and begin.

It wasn't the story that kept Red awake through her exhaustion, wasn't the glittering illuminations the decorated every page. It was Belle's voice, always a sweet reflection of her own demeanor, now lovingly tuned into an instrument. She poured it over the words with intimate consideration of every one, her accent lilting and dipping in the most unexpected places. She had a different voice for each character, a different voice for each scene. She built the tension brick by brick, until it was a tower threatening collapse, and suddenly Red could understand how someone might get lost in the multiple levels of a story.

_She's in that place, _Red thought. _She's never existed outside this moment. _

She didn't even notice Red watching her.

Then the chapter ended abruptly, and Belle passed the book over. Red felt like a master bard had just shoved a harp in her hands.

"You sure you don't want to call it a night?" Red asked doubtfully, thumbing through the pages.

"I have at least three more chapters in me," Belle insisted. She scooted closer to see the pictures, and a nervous breath caught in Red's throat as her head swam with the dark, clean scent of Belle's hair. She tensed, and realized a moment later she didn't know why. This wasn't the restlessness that came from the wolf. Its cravings had been satisfied today; it was quiet for once. No, this…this was something different.

Red licked her lips and began, clearing her throat a couple times to settle into the rhythm. She felt like a poor excuse for a storyteller, but unlike her, Belle was actually invested in the words, and she hung on every one. She was quiet and still. It wasn't until the other girl's head fell against her shoulder that Red realized Belle had actually fallen asleep.

"Belle?" she whispered. She tried to sit up straighter, but Belle didn't wake. Red laughed self-consciously, wondering how long she'd been reading to herself. Belle's breath tickled across her collarbone.

_Three chapters, my ass, _she thought, and then, suddenly, in that soft, muted warmth, Red felt so overwhelmed with fondness she thought it would split her in two. Here was unconditional trust. Here was kindness without cost. Here was someone who saw her and didn't turn away.

It was just that she'd never expected to have things like that again.

Red set the book down, gently extricated herself, and scooped Belle up in her arms. A moment later she laid her down in Granny's bed, making sure the blankets covered her feet. Belle curled up and fell deeper into her sleep.

_She won't run. _

The three words pounded against Red's temple, and she couldn't yet tell if they were a wish or a fact. All she knew for certain is that she would never use the irons or the shed again.

_She's smart. She won't run. She saw how dangerous it is out there. _

_Gods, please don't run._

Red watched her for moment, then turned and went back to her own room. Belle had shown her nothing but trust.

She would do the same.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So, this is one of those chapters I've been looking forward to since the beginning, and unsurprisingly it's also the longest. (: ****Extra thank you for the kind reviews this past week, they were especially encouraging. Happy weekend!**

**Chapter 8**

**22 Days**

Belle didn't run.

Not the first night she had the opportunity. Not the second or the third night either. She wasn't a fool; the forest was a prison that didn't need walls. Even without her hands and feet bound, Belle didn't like her chances fumbling around in the dark and cold.

But the fact that she even _had _that chance was something she still had trouble believing. Red had obviously reached a conscious but unspoken decision not to play any further active role in her imprisonment. She was free to go. Of course, Red had never said as much explicitly, and Belle didn't want to risk everything by asking—or worse, actually attempting to leave during the much more favorable daylight hours. If she were wrong at all about the other girl's motives, she could end up back in the shed.

No, any escape would have to be made in secret, and the only time that was possible was late at night. That was surely part of the design, a built-in safeguard; this new freedom was a generous but empty gesture of good will. It would put Red in a terribly compromising position if she _actually_ allowed her to leave. Belle wouldn't believe the girl trusted her that deeply, not even after the things they'd shared.

But then, Belle admitted, she herselftrusted Red now far more than she'd ever planned to…and far more than was responsible if she was still having doubts. A week ago (had it truly only been a week?) every interaction with Red had strung her nerves near to snapping, her instincts warring against any attempt to prolong their conversations. Now, nothing seemed more natural. In fact, in a strange way, she felt increasingly _safer_, even as she saw more and more evidence of Red's inhuman nature. Just late last night Belle had woken in up a cold panic at the sound of a nearby howling wolf, then slipped into a glow of comfort with the reassurance that her wolf was bigger.

Not that she didn't still get nervous when she was close to Red. Reflexes, as they'd established, were difficult to overcome. But…and this was an odd thing…at some point that nervousness had stopped feeling like it had anything to do with actual fear—

"Belle."

"_Shit,_" Belle swore. Lightning crackled down her spine. Red had startled her out of her reverie by stalking up behind her and whispering in her ear.

The other girl cracked a grin. "I knew I'd get you to curse eventually."

"I'm sorry, are we twelve now?" Belle's heart was going to pound out of her chest. Red flopped down across from her at the picnic table, returned from having stored away the now-dried fox skins—or whatever ungodly thing it was you did with animal pelts when you were done with them. The other plus side to Belle's departure from the shed was that Red could actually use it for its intended purpose now.

"Is everyone in the city as proper as you?" Red went on.

"No, actually," Belle said stiffly. "It's a den of depravity. I foolishly hoped rustic life would be more idyllic. You seem determined to prove me wrong."

"See, you throw around these words like 'idyllic and 'depravity,' when it'd be way more efficient to just say you're surrounded by assholes."

"_Incredibly_ determined."

Red's grin widened, exposing a perfect canine. Belle felt a single butterfly flutter up to her throat.

"Well, if your delicate sensibilities aren't going to be too offended, I was thinking we could go on a little side trip today," Red said.

Belle fought for composure. "A…side trip?"

"I mean, that's only if you want to," Red said quickly. "I just know it can get a little boring here."

Belle laughed a little. The past few days had been many things, but 'boring' wasn't one of them. Refreshing_, _more like. Even exhilarating_. _And yes, in those quieter moments, was true they'd settled into a sort of routine—food, chores, idle conversation, napping after lunchtime, reading after dark—but if anything, Belle enjoyed the growing sense of familiarity. It was a peek into what normal life looked like out here, and it was a life she could get used to.

Red fidgeted. "It scares me when you get quiet like that."

"Sorry, I was just thinking. I find it funny you could ever be bored out here."

"Well, there's nothing to do. No one's out here but us."

"Precisely why I like it." Belle glanced up. "Or are you sick of me already?"

"No! No. You're the only thing keeping me sane. I just figured—coming from the city—you'd want—" She gestured fruitlessly, flushing. Belle smiled to herself. There was something sweet about seeing someone with Red's reputation so easily flustered. "—Listen, if you _like _hanging around the house, then we can do that, too."

"No," Belle said quickly. "I like adventures even more. The only thing better than reading them is actually having them."

Red relaxed a little. "That's what I thought you'd say. And I get the feeling you'll appreciate where we're going. You've maybe even read about it."

"Oh?"

"The forest has a wishing well."

Belle perked up, genuinely invested now. She _had _read about it, but she hadn't believed it to be real.

"You've been there?" she asked.

"Only once," Red said. "Granny always said it was dangerous to put too much faith in things like wishing wells, and I guess she was right. After she left I tried to wish my curse away, and it didn't do anything." She shrugged. "Maybe its magic has been suppressed, like all the other good magic in the forest since the queen took over. But it's still a nice spot. There's flowers. I don't know. You can say you've seen it."

_To whom? _Belle wondered absurdly, but it did nothing to stifle her enthusiasm.

"Is it far?" she asked.

Red considered the late morning sun. "Yeah, we wouldn't get back until after dark. It's a decent walk."

Better and better. It would be like the hunting trip, but without the stress of having to actually accomplish anything. Belle met the other's girl's eyes.

"When do we leave?"

* * *

At some point during Belle's tenure out here, the leaves had changed. The forest was ablaze with the leaves still on the branch, while the ones that had fallen swirled at their feet. Their oaken scent on her empty stomach filled her with a wholesome kind of hunger. Evergreens rattled in the wind. When she was younger, she'd always looked forward to this time of year, to watching this distant symphony of color and change. Now, she was surrounded by the music.

The problem, Belle realized, was that she didn't want to go home.

It'd been easy to ignore that fact back when she had no choice in the matter. But now, here she was, on her third day without any restraints_,_ and Belle actually had the gall to be enjoying this breathtaking little detour. It wasn't long before a persistent worm of guilt had begun to work its way through the back of her mind. She'd started out determined to do whatever it took to get back to her father. Now, she was no longer confident she was trying her hardest, and if she wasn't then it was nothing short of betrayal.

_I'm just making the most of the situation,_ she told herself. _Endearing myself to Red. That was always the plan. _

_No, _the voice of reason insisted. _There were always _two_ plans: survive, or escape. Survival's not guaranteed yet, not by far. You got Red thinking about self-control. She hasn't mastered it. But meanwhile, the door back to Nottingham opens wider and wider every day. If you put even a modicum of effort into the escape plan, you could be home by the end of the week. _

Belle considered the woods, so much friendlier in daylight. It was easy to think about challenging them now, but she knew at night it'd be a much different story. Still, the voice of reason wasn't without…reason. How much longer could she keep justifying her inaction? She should be applying herself to this problem, not taking detours to literary destinations.

_Fine, then. I'll apply myself. How would I make it home in the middle of the night while Red's asleep?_

She knew civilization was to the south, and she was savvy enough to tell direction by the sun and the stars. At that point, was it really just a matter of walking until she broke free of the forest? It would be a long walk—longer than this one, if her carriage ride out here was any indication. It would take all night, anyway, and maybe a little of the morning as well. But so long as she dressed warmly and carried a torch, she would be fine.

_Or should I not have fire? Maybe it'd be better to be discreet._

_True, but you could freeze without it. And it's a good weapon against wild animals._

_Weapons. Yes. I could take the bow. I'm getting better._

_A knife, too._

_Gods!_

_As a last resort—never forget there are bandits. Constant threat. Even in daylight._

_The knife, then…though I'd be stealing this all from Red._

_Yes. But she'd understand._

Belle continued plotting as she hiked through the undergrowth, accounting for food, for injury, for bad weather. The odds weren't great, but neither was the alternative, and so far she'd been willing enough to consider that. She figured, if she really meant to do this, that she could be ready in two or three nights' time. She'd promised herself she'd return to her father, and that was a promise she intended to keep. No one could argue she wasn't giving the escape plan its due diligence.

_So why do I still feel like a traitor right now?_

Belle looked up ahead to where the other girl was walking, her stride smooth and silent, her eyes bright with anticipation.

She'd made promises to Red, too.

They'd been travelling in an easy silence for nearly an hour now. The significance of that wasn't lost on Belle. For her, the mark of a true friend wasn't just someone she would be comfortable saying anythingto. She also had to be comfortable saying nothing at all.

Belle didn't want to lose that. It was selfish, but it was true. It wasn't just that she enjoyed the thrill of living in the forest that held her back, or that she was too cautious to risk an escape. It was that she'd found someone, finally, who looked at her and saw not divergence but poetry. There were plenty of practical and humanitarian reasons for staying with Red to help her fight this battle. Was it really so terrible if there were personal ones, too?

But…her father.

_Fine. _Still, Belle began to imagine the other side of the escape plan in her mind, needing to know what it would look like for Red when she discovered Belle missing. First, she figured, Red would have to ask the Sheriff for a new prisoner. Then the Sheriff would blame her and punish her. Maybe even try to have her killed if he realized how lax she'd gotten; it was a level of disobedience Belle doubted the nobleman would put up with. Even if she lived, she'd be that much deeper in his debt. She'd return to being the haunted, worn-down girl Belle had first met, rather than the warm and vibrant one she'd since become.

That was the good scenario.

In the bad scenario, to spare herself his wrath, Red didn't tell the Sheriff at all. Unless she managed to control herself, the wolf would run free, people would die, and Belle would feel responsible.

And in the worst scenario, to spare those people, Red took matters into her own hands, as she had apparently almost done once before. Belle felt a wrenching dread at the thought.

Red needed her help. And Belle had promised it. She hadn't meant it to be conditional.

But…her father.

_This is a mess, _Belle thought wearily. At least it wasn't a decision that had to be made today. She would have to hope her careful consideration would be enough to salve her guilt for now.

She sighed and pushed herself a little faster until she was walking next to Red. The other girl glanced up and smirked.

"You daydream like it pays."

"I wish," Belle muttered. She forced herself to rejoin the present moment. "Are we getting close?"

"Maybe another hour," Red said.

"And how's your better half?" Belle asked carefully. She knew going deeper into the forest tended to bring the wolf out. She wanted to see if three days of practice was having any effect.

Red's face lit up. "Getting better all the time. I really think you're onto something with all this this. It's like the pressure's not as strong as it usually is because I've been compromising with the wolf more the past couple days. Like, if you could imagine a wine bottle, and instead of the cork exploding all at once, the air escapes kind of gradually." She scowled. "Although I could still go for a glass of wine right about now."

_Yes, _Belle agreed. But she was encouraged to hear it. Her spirits lifted just a bit.

"I know how to make moonshine," she offered. "My father taught me. Or, rather, I watched him do it. _Just _for his friends from time to time—a bunch of cantankerous old men. I can't vouch for their taste. But we could try sometime, see what happens."

Red just stared.

"What?"

"You're an enigma," she said finally, chuckling.

"Ooh, big word. I knew I'd get you to use one eventually."

"Hey—" Red protested, then did a double-take. "Ah, hell," she muttered. "Belle, there's a spider on you. Hold still, I can get it."

Belle immediately went into panic mode. "Where?"

"On your shoulder." Belle's eyes widened when she saw it was as long as her longest finger, nestled near her neck. "_Gods! _Get it off!"

Red poked her tongue out in concentration as she reached for it.

"Don't make it mad—" Belle jerked backwards.

"Quit moving."

"What if it bites you?"

"I bite back."

"What if bites _me_?"

"It won't." Red's hand crept closer, closer, before shooting out at the last minute with snakelike speed. "_Got it._" Red stepped forward, sweeping the spider onto the ground. Belle screamed, instincts urging her to run. Their feet tangled. Belle fell backwards through the brush. A strong hand caught her forearm before she could hit the ground. She blinked, heart hammering. In that instant they were suspended, counterpointed by each other's pull. Then Red drew her upright. Held her steady by the small of her back. Grinned with one side of her mouth.

"Got you, too," she said in a quieter voice.

For a moment they were so close their heat flushed out the late autumn wind. Red's fogged breath was apple-sweet. She used her free hand to brush a leaf from Belle's hair, fingers raking gently through the curls before hooking them back behind her ear. Her face slipped into a mask of concentration, her gray eyes unflinching. Belle was keenly aware of the light touch on her spine. Burning, she dropped her gaze and stepped away.

"Sorry," Red shrank back immediately. "I know you still get nervous around me."

_Maybe not for the reason you think._

"That was some pretty fancy footwork," Belle offered instead. "We should go on tour." It was the wrong thing to say, but she no longer knew what the right thing was.

Red clutched the side of her own arm uneasily. "Yeah. Look, Belle, I've been thinking—" Then she stopped short, head tilted as she listened.

"What now?" Belle asked, assuming it was some joke meant to break the tension, but this time Red looked serious.

"You didn't hear that?" Red asked.

"No. What was it?"

"Someone screamed."

They must have been pretty far away if Belle couldn't hear them at all. "A little scream? Like, say, a young woman getting attacked by a spider?"

"A young woman getting attacked by something," Red said darkly. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "I should go see if I can help."

"Is it safe?" Belle asked. Red gave her a flat look. "Not for you, I mean…for them."

"Sounds like soldiers. I'm not really worried about them." Belle said nothing, and Red sighed. "I'll be good; I promise. It's getting easier. I have you to thank for that. But I can't sit here and do nothing." She gave Belle's shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm just going to check it out, okay? Just for a minute. You're safe here. I'll be back."

And then she left before Belle could answer, taking off with a speed Belle had never seen from her before. Within seconds Belle was alone in the silence.

The wind picked up, sending a rash of gooseflesh up the back of her neck. The solitude pressed on her like a stone. Belle hugged herself, wondering if she should follow, wondering if she should stay.

Wondering if she should run.

It was funny, the way things happened sometimes. She could spend half an hour planning an elaborate, dangerous escape, and then have an effortless one dropped into her lap just as she'd begun hoping it couldn't be done. True, she didn't have weapons or warm clothing. But it was early enough in the day that she could be relatively close to town by nightfall. A better opportunity would never present itself.

_What if Red catches me?_

_That scream was far away. _

_What if those soldiers catch me?_

_They're obviously preoccupied. And a second group of soldiers or bandits, so nearby? Not likely._

Belle's chest seemed to fill with her divided heart. Red had been about to say something. Something important, Belle could feel it coming. If she left now, they would never see each other again. The idea of Red returning to an empty hollow and a cold trail made Belle's throat swell with dagger-like pain. There was a deeper ache she knew would never leave her if she fled.

She took a step in Red's direction.

But…

Her father.

* * *

Belle fumbled through the swallowing dark, running not to make time but simply to keep warm. A cold line of tears had frozen across her cheeks. She felt fairly certain she was still heading south, but with the clouds obscuring the sky she could no longer be sure. The woodland seemed determined to keep her from moving in a straight line, cutting her off with shallow ravines, forcing her sideways with looming deadfalls. She had tried and failed to find the road.

She felt like she'd been running her whole life.

The sun had only just set, and she could already hear the sounds of nocturnal creatures stirring. Soon it would be too dark to see properly. She'd have to slow down to a walk. She was no longer confident she'd make it to town tonight, or even that she'd survive to see the morning.

This escape had started off well enough. First walking, then running, Belle had made her way towards civilization. The promise of freedom, of being home, had spurred her to speeds she didn't know she had. Then, inevitably, like a taut string snapping, her eyes had begun to burn with regret as the weight of her decision settled in. Her throat was too raw to even breathe. Soon she'd been crying openly. She'd had to stop and collect herself.

She'd stopped too long.

Eventually, she'd kept going. She returned to a walk. Except then she was tired, and filled with growing doubt. Every new obstacle discouraged her more. She was already behind schedule as it was. She tried to pick up her pace, but she was already worn from walking with Red. She had no idea how many miles were left ahead of her.

It wasn't that she couldn't _do _it. She knew she could do it because it had to be done. Her body would recover from the punishment later. It was just that she'd lost all desire to keep going. With every step she felt like she trod on her own heart.

_You'll be glad when you're home. Just think of that. You're very close now. You'll be glad when you're home. _

Except then the sun had set, and the wind had picked up, and the cold had settled in for the night. And that's when Belle had started running again, to stave off the creeping numbness in her fingers. But now she was exhausted, and her doubt was stronger, and her feet were sore and her skin was scraped up and she wasn't a hundred percent sure she was going in the right direction anymore. She shoved back against the part of her that wanted to turn around. Even if she had, she didn't know how to get back to the cottage. She had to keep going. It had been some seven hours already, but she had to keep going.

She dreaded the moment she'd succumb to sleep.

It might have been more prudent to stop now and find a secure place to shelter for the night. But she didn't want to waste any time, not when there was a chance she could make it to town within a couple more hours. There'd been a _reason_ she'd been so afraid to spend the night out here in the first place. The forest was different after dark, all its noble green and yellow and red exchanged for a forbidding palette of blue. The light-footed carrying-on of squirrels and robins was replaced now by the much heavier footfalls of unknown things. And worst by far were the sudden pockets of silence. In daylight it had simply meant there was nothing to see. Now, it was a painful reminder that she could see nothing.

The wolves came for her about an hour after sunset.

Belle had slowed down to a trot by then. Her only warning was the flash of their eyes, reflecting yellow in the thin moonlight. One pair, at first, directly in front of her, and then, as she stopped short and turned, several more creeping up from behind. They'd formed a perimeter. Belle didn't have the energy to feel anything but a dull surprise.

_I almost made it._

Her physical response was far more acute. Panic cut through her pain and weariness, waking her to action. She searched for a break in the tightening ranks. _There. _She hesitated for a moment, knowing they'd give chase if she ran. But if she did nothing, it would be a fight—and not a long one. Belle licked her lips.

She made a break for it.

A flurry of footsteps followed her. She was overtaken in seconds. Back in the circle. A wolf lunged. She jumped away just in time, finding another window and sprinting through it. Patient panting from all sides. They could do this all night.

She looked desperately for any low-hanging branches she could climb and found none. She darted wildly as she ran; in a straight line she would never outrun them. A moment later she was trapped again. She held back frustrated tears.

_If you cry now, it's over_, she told herself calmly. _Find something you can use to fight. _

Belle scanned the ground and picked up a heavy stick. The bark crumbled in her palm. She turned back and forth, feinting, wondering how this had all gone so wrong. Thinking of her father. Thinking of Red.

"Come on, then," she said, her breath curdling in the cold air.

The wolves attacked.

The first one came in low for her ankles, and she shoved it away with a kick. Two more leapt for her arms. They were trying to pull her off her feet. She dodged, their teeth clicking together emptily where her bare skin had been moments before. She swung the stick indiscriminately, eliciting savage snarls from her targets but doing nothing to drive them back.

Then the fourth one rushed up from behind. Belle felt a sudden blow to her back, a scrabbling of claws on her shoulder. She fell to the ground. She rolled over and sat up quickly, scooting back on her hands, but it was too late. The wolves swirled closer.

_This is how it ends, _she thought quietly. And she wondered if this was the hero's death or the coward's.

A piercing howl split the night. All the wolves froze. Belle dreaded to see the animal commanded their attention. Some leader of the pack, no doubt, something that would insist on having the first taste. A moment later she saw it, a swiftly approaching shadow.

The wolves uttered low snarls, and turned.

_Gods above. Why are _they _afraid?_

And then the creature burst into the circle, another wolf, yes, but three times as large as any of the others. Not the leader of the pack. Not even a friend. It tore into the first other wolf it saw, crushing its neck between its jaws and leaving it whimpering in the dirt. The other wolves rushed forward to bring it down. One by one they fell. Shaken senseless. Cracked between teeth. Opened from neck to navel. The bigger wolf never made a sound after that first howl, going about its lethal work with silent efficiency. Belle watched it all in a numbed state of shock. She saw things, _heard_ things, that, for whatever remained of her life, she knew would never leave her.

By the time it occurred to her to run, it was too late. The whole pack lay dead or dying, and the big wolf came her way. Coat dark as shadow, eyes slate gray. And its _teeth. _Red. Its muzzle, red. Its claws, red.

The veil fell from her eyes.

_Red?_

It wasn't the full moon, but it was undeniably her. She was going to tear her apart.

"I'm sorry," Belle began. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Red, I'm so sorry. I wanted to stay and help you. You have no idea how much I wanted to. But my father…I'd never forgive myself if I didn't take the chance…" she let the words die out, the words she should have said before running. They were falling on deaf ears anyway. This wasn't Red she was talking to. This was the beast, somehow set free three weeks early.

She was very close now. Belle could see the shine of her eyes.

_Please, make it fast, _Belle prayed silently. She remembered all too well the wolf's proclivity for savoring kills. She wondered how many others had begged in vain. _Please. Please._

Inches away. Belle closed her eyes. Her heart beat so hard that it hurt. She felt the cool touch of a nose against her cheek. A moment later the wolf began to lap quietly at a scratch along her jawline, whining in distress.

Belle waited for the sudden cut of a fang. She almost welcomed it over this dread. It never came. She cracked her eyes open. The wolf moved on to a cut on her eyebrow. A shudder rippled across Belle's scalp at the gentle attention. Was she toying with her with this? Or was she—trying to help?

"Red?" Belle asked quietly. Not daring to hope. "Are you in there right now? Are you …awake?"

The wolf paused to meet her eyes. Belle swallowed her fear and looked into them, tried to read their intent, and in that instant she knew. She knew. Gods, it was _uncanny_, like when a cat cried out like an infant or a plant took the shape of a face—something human where you least expected to find it, except this time it was real. Her skin crawled instinctively, but her heart swelled with relief.

_What if I hurt you? _the girl had asked.

_And what if you save my life?_

"Red." Belle was laughing. How the hell was she laughing at a time like this? "Gods, you're beautiful."

She reached out to stroke her fur, but Red was drawing back now. The wolf gave her a final nudge on the cheek before loping off the way she'd come.

_No, please, _Belle thought. _Why are you leaving?_

But Belle had left first, hadn't she? This was her friend's way of saying she wasn't going to stop her. This was the goodbye.

Belle could still make it out of the forest. None of her injuries were serious. There wouldn't be another pack of wolves. For the second time that day, her heart hung in the balance.

This time she followed it.

* * *

When they got back it was just before midnight. Belle was exhausted. She could only imagine Red was even more so. She'd carried her on her back the whole way home at seemingly impossible speeds, in what had been for Belle the most surreal hour of her life. She had never expected to be so happy to be back in Granny's bed.

Red had stayed outside to wash off, despite the late hour and despite the cold. Belle forced herself to stay awake until the girl returned. They still hadn't actually spoken since Red ran off to confront the soldiers—and Belle suspected there were things that needed saying.

She didn't even hear it when Red came back inside. She just got that feeling, looked up, and saw her standing in her doorway.

She laughed a little. "Someone needs to put a bell on you. How long have you been standing there?"

Red didn't laugh with her. "Why did you come back?"

The edge in her voice caught Belle off-guard. She sat up, her smile fading. "Red, I'm sorry I even left. It was a mistake."

"Yeah, but why?"

"I—you saw how it was. I knew I'd never survive the night."

Red flinched. "You're lying."

Belle cursed silently. She gave Red an even look. "I felt guilty. Alright? I promised I'd help you, and I left before I finished the job. It was cowardly. Don't think of it as charity; I know you wouldn't like that. I just…keep my word. That's all."

Red furrowed her brows in confusion, some of the edge slipping from her voice. "You're still lying."

Belle looked down at her hands. There were some things she just didn't know how to say out loud.

"Just tell me what you're actually thinking, Belle," Red said in a quieter voice. "For once."

"Can we do this tomorrow?" Belle urged, a teary feeling creeping into her throat. "Please? I just need one night. You can do whatever you want with me in the morning, I don't care. Lock me up or send me away or eat me for breakfast, I don't care. I just need to put one night between me and what happened with those wolves—" Her voice choked, and she cursed herself for it. How she _hated _to lose her composure, to leave herself open and vulnerable like this. "—Gods, I'm sorry."

"Belle." The other girl's voice had melted into concern. "Belle, come here." And when she didn't Red came to her, wrapping her in a strong embrace. "Tomorrow, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."

"You saved my life."

"I'm just returning the favor."

And now Belle was crying actual tears.

"Hey, no, it's okay. Belle. It's okay. You're safe now. Everything's going to be fine." Red squeezed her hand. "Do you want to stay with me tonight? Would that make you feel better?"

Belle swallowed and nodded. She allowed herself to be led to the other room.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, wiping her eyes. "That was unseemly."

"That was human," Red said, smiling a little for the first time. "Someone around here has to be." She turned down the sheets.

"And I'm sorry about—"

"Tomorrow," Red said, cutting her off. "I could use a good night's sleep myself."

She slipped underneath the covers, and after a moment's hesitation, Belle joined her. Red blew out the candles. They lied side by side in the dark, listening to the settling of the house. And for all her unnatural exhaustion, Belle had never felt further from sleep. Her mind replayed the day's events in an endless loop, guilt, indecision, grief, regret, all culminating in the dark and the cold and the fear. She curled up like a child.

And beside her, anchoring her to the real world, Red's solid presence, her supernatural warmth. Belle's breaths were short and shallow.

There were words that hung at the top of her throat, ripe, and ready to drop. When finally they did they were barely above a whisper.

"Red?" she said quietly. No answer. "…Can you hold me?"

Nothing. Maybe she hadn't heard; maybe she was already asleep. Or, worse, she had heard, and didn't like what it implied. Belle sighed and nestled deeper into the pillow, filing it away as, ultimately, one of the day's lesser catastrophes.

Then, without saying a word, Red turned and slipped her arm around her, drawing her close, lacing their fingers together.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: A *huge* thank you for the response to the last chapter! A heads-up that this one has some language. It was supposed to be longer, but I felt like I had to end it where I did. :) Song recommendation: "Make This Go on Forever" by Snow Patrol.**

**Chapter 9**

**21 Days**

The morning was dark, and it had started to rain. Its quiet drumming tugged Red to an uneasy wakefulness. Belle was incredibly still beside her.

"Belle?" she murmured. At some point during the night they'd looped their ankles together, and Red untangled them gently, rolling onto her back. She couldn't remember a time she'd ever woken up first. Even so she struggled to lift the fog from her mind. It was a few long, gray minutes before she tried again. "Belle."

When no answer came Red propped herself up on her elbow and gave the other girl's shoulder a gentle nudge. Her skin prickled with a sudden and awful intuition as she did so, the kind of gathering dread that built up at the sound of a strong gale approaching. Belle fell towards her bonelessly.

_No…_

Her eyes were open, her mouth was open, her throat was a crimson ruin. The nightgown she'd borrowed was ragged and red where eager hands had torn it wide, the better to get at the soft flesh underneath. In places she'd been ravaged to the bone.

"No no no no _no_—" And it was only now when she spoke that Red tasted the blood on her tongue, and now when she reached out that she saw her hands painted with murder. She licked her lips (oh gods, it was _good_) and tried to pull the nightgown together with shaking fingers.

Again. It was happening again. It was like Peter but worse. Gods help her, it was worse. Peter had loved her when she'd been easy to love, but Belle…Belle—

A choked sob forced its way through her throat. She felt like she was sinking. Sinking. The shadows around her grew tall and toothlike. The room began to spin. She took Belle up and cradled her close, and bent to kiss her parted lips—

A distant roar built up in the back of her mind and crescendoed to a splitting _crash_.

Thunder. Red cried out and bolted upright, waking from what she realized was a nightmare. Her heart slammed against her chest. Her breaths were thick and shaky. It really was early morning, and it really was storming out, but Belle was whole and perfect beside her, and too deep in her sleep to have been woken up by the noise. Red let out a watery sigh of relief and leaned back against the headboard.

_This sucks, _she thought wearily.

It was the kind of defeatist, self-pitying attitude that she usually hated, but her fresh terror had left her feeling vulnerable. Actually, everythingthat had happened since yesterday morning had left her feeling vulnerable. It was as if fate had saved her from drowning once just so it could enjoy watching her struggle again. Red hated herself for giving in to that hope. For letting herself get too close. For actually believing anyone, even Belle, would stay with her of their own free will.

So how come it had still felt so good to finally hold her in her arms?

Red considered the sleeping girl for a long time, the stray curl on her forehead, the light flush of her cheeks, and wished she had any idea how to feel. Finally she sighed and got out of bed, wandering into the kitchen. She was afraid of what she'd see if she closed her eyes again. Red was used to nightmares about murder, but they were always memories from her wolf's time, and they were usually brief and hazy, the details once-removed. She'd never had a damn _fantasy _before, never imagined someone's death with such clarity that she could savor the taste of the blood. She guessed this was the price she paid for giving the wolf so much freedom.

Of course, it probably didn't help that the wolf wasn't very happy with her after last night. It hadn't liked being forced to stay on-task. It hadn't liked leaving Belle alive. And it'd hated being ridden home like a pony. Keeping its impulses in check for all that time had been the most exhausting thing Red had ever done. If Belle was right and the wolf really was just expressing her own fear and anger, then obviously she still had some very real issues to deal with before it would be completely tame.

Still.

She'd managed to bring the wolf out before the full moon, and she'd managed stay conscious the whole time. There was a small, warm glow of pride in that that refused to be darkened. Whatever else had happened yesterday, at least she hadn't hurt anyone.

_Thanks to Belle. _

Red let out a frustrated breath, resting her head on her hands with fingers hooked into claws. There was no escaping this. She shut her eyes against the lightning, and another peal of thunder shook the house. The rain beat insistently on the window.

There'd been a moment, during that nightmare.

Towards the end. There'd been a…wanting. It'd been totally separate from the wolf's hunger but it'd been just as overwhelming, and maybe it was finally time for her to admit that the reason all this hurt so much was because at some point she'd let her friendship slip into something deeper.

_No! Gods. Stop making this more complicated than it already is. You're lonely and she was next to you so you had a dream. That's all. Nothing even happened._

Ah, but hadn't she wished something would? Hadn't there been something honest about the press of Belle's body against her own? Hadn't she just seemed to _fit_? Red could still remember every detail of those minutes before she fell asleep. Belle's ice-cold hands and feet thawing under her touch. The light tickle of her hair against Red's cheek. The sound of their beating hearts in the quiet, the way Belle's, lighter and faster, like a bird's, would sync up every few minutes with hers. _Gods_, if only they'd been face to face—

Okay_. _

So, maybe these feelings were real.

And maybe that was okay. It was the only rational explanation for her irrational emotional state. If her heart was broken, that just meant she still had one.

Red felt some of the tension in her shoulders leak away as the acceptance settled in. She realized some part of her had known this for a while now. It'd just been too dangerous to think it out loud. After Peter, she'd told herself she could never be with anyone again. It'd been an easy enough promise to make. She'd never expected to have any takers.

Of course, she was getting way ahead of herself if she thought she had any now. Belle was impossible to pin down, and the fact that she'd run wasn't exactly a good sign. Maybe she was just a nice person, and it was Red's own fault for reading too much into it. Or maybe she was just a very _cunning_ person, and it'd always been the plan to get close to Red so Red would let her guard down…

But then. Why come back?

Red sighed, staring out the window. She couldn't even blame Belle for running. Not really. Not when Red herself had just made the decision to let her go.

It was funny how that had happened. They'd been standing together in the woods after Red had saved her from the spider, and Belle had been looking at her like she'd slayed a damn dragon. They'd been close, so close. And all of a sudden, in the very instant Red realized she never wanted to be apart from this girl again, she also realized that she couldn't keep her trapped here any longer. Belle deserved better. And Red knew she herself did, too. What they had, whatever it was, could never feel real so long as Belle didn't know she had a choice in the matter. All she could do was hope the other girl chose to stay.

Red had planned the words the whole time she'd been gone. She'd wanted to be careful, wanted to get them right. She'd found herself wishing Belle could have helped her craft them. She'd never been great at subtlety.

And then, when she'd returned, those words ready at her lips, Belle was already gone. Which was probably how it would've ended anyway—Red just wished it could have been a cleaner cut. This…this had hacked at her in a way nothing else had in almost two years. She'd limped the whole way home.

_Well, it's your own fault. You should've told her sooner, actually offered to help her get home rather than just take the chains away. Half-ass sowing reaps half-ass results. _

_Okay, fine, but I was too afraid she'd actually _leave_._ _Obviously a justified fear._

Still, when Red had heard the sound of the wolves on the hunt later that night, there'd been no question of whether or not she would go to make sure it wasn't Belle they were after, no temptation to leave her friend to her ill-chosen fate. In fact, there hadn't been much in the way of a decision at all. Instinct kicked in. The wolf came out. She'd run like she never had before.

_Thank the gods. _

Red turned back to the darkened hallway. Still no sign of the other girl stirring. She realized, with an unreasonable amount of surprise and frustration, that she was starting to get hungry. Again. Always. She wished she could get by on sunlight and air.

But seeing as she couldn't—seeing as it was too rainy to go hunting—seeing as she probably shouldn't expect any home cooking from Belle—Red knew she'd have to fend for herself this morning. She got up with a resigned sigh and began searching the cupboards for ingredients that could maybe go together.

Red was halfway through cooking some lumpy pancakes when she heard Belle wake up.

She continued to cook without turning, only freezing for a minute before recovering. She would just pretend she hadn't heard. She felt her stomach knot with anxiety when Belle entered the room. Tentative. Her footsteps seemed tentative. But a moment later, she was there.

"Do you want help with that?" Red stiffened at the sound of her voice. It had a just-waking-up huskiness she'd never heard before. Belle sidled up next to her, back against the stove. Her face was unreadable.

"I'm almost done," Red muttered.

"Here, let me get that." Belle reached out a hand. Red flinched away, showing her teeth. Belle stopped short.

"Well, this is a refreshing reversal," she said lightly after a moment.

_Get your shit together, Red._ "Sorry, I just—I don't know where that came from. You can go sit down. I'm almost done."

Belle gave her a long look—so long Red felt her face warming—before padding off to the table. For a long time they were silent, listening to the sizzle of the pan and the pounding of the rain. Then Red joined her.

"Sorry they're not as good as probably you're used to," she mumbled, sliding the plate in front of her.

Belle soaked them in syrup and took a bite. "They're better." Gods bless her, she was lying. Red felt her guard drop just a bit.

"Did you sleep okay?"

Belle met her eyes briefly. "It was the best sleep of my life. I hope I wasn't too much of an imposition."

Red hesitated. _How the hell am I supposed to proceed if I can't remember what _imposition _means?_

"…I mean, a pain in the ass," Belle corrected, seeing Red's expression.

"Oh. No! Gods. Not at all. I—" _Careful_. "I slept fine."

"Good, I wasn't sure. You were growling in your sleep. But I remember you told me sometimes that happens."

"Oh, shit. Sorry." Red felt her ears burning. "That's embarrassing."

"No, it was...kind of reassuring, to be honest. After what happened."

Red's heart surged for a moment at this victory, then quailed when she realized they were already approaching the place where the ice was the thinnest. She searched for the right response. Yesterday, talking to Belle had been effortless. Now it was labored, painful, frustrating, like two magnets suddenly flipped the wrong way. Red pushed her breakfast around her plate, cursing her sudden and worthless insecurity.

"Red," Belle said quietly when she didn't respond. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." They'd both given up any pretense of actually eating, but Red continued to stare at her food. "I can't blame you for wanting to go home."

"But that's the thing, I _didn't_. Want to, I mean. It just felt like I had to try. I just…had this sense of duty. My father, Red—if only you knew him—he's completely alone without me, and we never even got to say goodbye."

"Yeah. I know that feeling," Red muttered. She hadn't meant to say the words out loud, and seeing the pain flicker across Belle's face made her regret them immediately. But maybe it was for best, this brutal honesty. Maybe it was better than the fantasy they'd been living for too long.

"So you're not mad at me for leaving," Belle said stiffly. "You're just mad at how I did it."

"Belle, I'm not mad at you at all." She was grinding the words out, and they left a bitter taste on her tongue. But if Red wanted the truth, she knew she'd have to offer up her own first. "I'm just—_scared _of you."

Confusion. "You're what?"

"I said I'm scared of you." Now that she'd gotten them out, the words couldn't seem to stop. "Belle, you changed everything. You showed up and you changed. _Everything._ Eighteen months of hell and then one week with you and I'm the happiest I've ever been. I had no idea one person could—like, the instant I saw you I knew it was going to be different." She laughed self-consciously. "You just have no idea. And then all of a sudden you weren't there and it hit me how much I'd already started depending on you. Gods, Belle, I was just—suddenly I was back in the dark, and after being in the sunlight it felt darker than ever before." She swallowed, her throat beginning to ache. "So I'm scared, okay? I'm scared to let myself get too close again because I don't know if any of it even meant anything to you, but I'm also terrified of being back on my own because now I finally understand how it's supposed to be. None of that gives me any excuse to keep you here. I get that. If you hadn't run yesterday I would have let you go myself; I swear I was about to do it. I just wanted to know first—" _Don't fucking cry. _"I just wanted to make sure it was real."

"Red." Belle reached across the table and gripped her hand. Red looked up, startled, pinned by the blue of her eyes. "Look at me. It is. This is real. And I am so sorry—I am _so sorry_—for running from it. I've never regretted anything more."

"No, Belle, you don't have to—I mean, I know how much you love your father. I'd never expect anyone to choose me."

"Well, I am," Belle said roughly. "That's why I came back. It's what he would want me to do, if he knew…" She sighed and pulled her hand back, running it through her hair in agitation and turning to face the driving rain. It was a long time before she spoke, but something told Red to hold her tongue. "You want to know the real reason I left, Red?" Belle asked finally, lifting her eyes once again. "I was scared, too. I was feeling so much, so _fast_, it almost seemed dangerous. I've never been that out of control before. At first it was just strategy, then it was compassion, but then…gods, Red, one day I just started falling into you—"

Red leaned across the little table and kissed her, holding her lightly by the chin. She'd never been very good with words. She was glad she no longer needed them.

Belle let out a little gasp. Her lips were soft, so soft, and sweeter than the sound of her heart racing with delight. She overcame her surprise and leaned into it, sweeping a hand up to cradle Red by the back of her neck.

_Finally. Gods, finally._

The rain tapered to a gentle drumming. Red deepened the kiss. She had to be gentle. The wolf was seething inside her chest. After a moment she let her teeth slip through. She felt the other girl's mouth pull into a grin, followed by low laughter. Red smiled nervously in tandem.

"How the hell are you giggling right now?"

"I like your teeth."

Gods. She was hopeless. She was perfect. She was here.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey friends! Sorry this didn't get out earlier in the weekend. As always thanks for the reviews. (: **

**Chapter 10**

**21 Days**

This, Belle thought, was how it was always supposed to be.

They'd finished eating, they'd kissed the last of the syrup clean, and then they'd wandered back to bed, it being one of those rainy days where a girl brushed her teeth and washed her face only to promptly change into a fresh nightgown. Now Red sat with her arm draped loose around Belle's shoulder, and Belle with her hand resting easy above Red's knee. This was the calm _after _the storm, the electrified atmosphere, the sated earth. The tempest that had nearly torn them apart now left Belle feeling clean and alive.

They'd spent the better part of the last half hour like this, simply enjoying the quiet. It was amazing how easily they'd fallen back into their old familiarity, and now without taint of fear. Red seemed well and truly relaxed for the first time since Belle had met her. The difference was unbelievable. The other girl had always been striking, but there'd also been a shadow just beneath her smiles that Belle had never noticed until it'd finally lifted. Now Red fairly radiated, so much it almost hurt to look at her.

…_Almost_. Now that Belle finally felt free to do so, she couldn't help but enjoy certain things. How long Red's legs looked next to hers, how sharp the cut of her calves. Belle decided that probably came from the running. Her arms, on the other hand: an archer's arms. They had a simple, sturdy strength that contrasted nicely with the slim, nimble fingers that just grazed Belle's elbow. And her eyes, gray as the storm. Belle had always loved how—

"I'm not sure which is wandering more right now, Belle," Red broke in, smirking. "Your mind, or your eyes."

Belle felt her cheeks redden. "My eyes weren't wandering_. _I was just making observations. 'The werewolf girl in a rare moment of repose.' My intentions were purely—ah—academic—"

Red had begun to pepper her neck with kisses, each one lingering longer than the one before. Belle gave up and let her head fall back against the wall, welcoming the shiver that ran across her skin. How on earth did the girl already knowexactly how to dismantle her? She was always fretting that she couldn't tell what Belle was thinking, but damn if she couldn't tell exactly what she wanted.

Belle laughed a little helplessly. "Savage! What do you think you're doing?"

"Eating you for breakfast."

_Holy hell_.

"Don't tell me you're still hungry," Belle joked, her breath catching involuntarily at the light scrape of teeth along her shoulder.

"Always," Red chuckled. "But don't worry, I won't bite."

That was…surprisingly disappointing. "What? I'm not good enough?"

"You're too good. If I started I couldn't stop."

Belle's heart surged with a thrill of fear. Red worked so hard to act human that most of the time Belle could forget she wasn't, but then there'd be some casually wolfish comment like this, some blunt dose of honesty, and suddenly she'd be reminded that the girl was an accomplished killer.

It was way more exhilarating than it had any right to be.

By now Red had moved down to her hand, kissing the knuckles and the knob of her wrist. She teased her fingers open and kissed her palm, too, then paused for the first time, considering.

"Have you ever had your palm read?" she asked after a moment.

Belle raised an eyebrow. "No, of course not. My father's a man of science."

"Well, I read a book on it once—"

"You? Read a book?"

Red shouldered her. "Okay_,_ so I looked at the _pictures_,and I still remember some of the big stuff. Like how this line here—" She traced a finger, feather-light, down the inside of Belle's thumb "—is your life line, and yours is pretty long, so that means I might actually keep my shit together during wolf's time this month, for once. Lucky you, right? And this one at the top here is your heart line, and yours runs pretty deep, so you love deeply." She hesitated, face reddening just a bit. "Lucky me."

"You're making this up," Belle said flatly.

"No!"

"No? What's this up-and-down one, then?"

Red narrowed her eyes, then smirked. "Oh, _that_. Okay, no joke, that's your sex line. I forget how to read it. But probably it says you're supposed to sleep with me tonight."

Belle snatched her hand back, her scandalized surprise half-genuine. "Of course it does! You're so full of it right now. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"The hot intellectual with the foreign accent and—crossing my fingers here—a healthy taste for danger?"

"The _shy_ _maiden_, actually," Belle corrected, but Red just gave her a sly look.

"Nah, you're not shy," she said. "You were never shy. You're just quiet. Like the wolf. People only see you when you want them to."

Whatever sharp retort Belle might have said faded in her throat at that. Red's insight left her feeling stripped bare in a way her flirting never could. _And you see me, don't you, Red? _she thought. _You're the only one who ever has._

Suddenly she wanted very much to kiss her again.

"Red, that was…very wise."

"Well don't act so surprised."

"What kind of girl are _you_?"

She snorted. "The kind that's not actually a girl."

"Come on, now," Belle said, nudging her.

"What? I don't fit in a neat little box anymore. Literally. Last time someone tried we both regretted it."

Belle rolled her eyes. "So stoic. Fine. Keep it up with the big-bad-wolf thing. Just know I'm not fooled for a second. The big-soft-puppy, more like."

Red raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm _soft_?"

"You think you're not?"

"Maybe a little, maybe around you," she sputtered. "But I like to think my reputation's intact. Hell, what else do I have, if not that?"

"Whatever. I'm not afraid," Belle said breezily.

Red lunged, her teeth clicking together less than a finger's breadth from Belle's throat. Belle practically toppled over in panic.

"Gods!"

"'Not afraid.'" Red grinned.

"Alright, _sometimes_. If you do _that_. I'm only human. But seriously, now, you're human, too. More than you give yourself credit for. I can tell by the way you touch me. So maybe I'm not afraidof being afraid. Not when it's with you."

Red's grin faded, and before she could question the statement Belle moved to prove it, slipping over the other girl so she could kiss her properly. Red let out a murmur of approval and slid down until she was leaning back on one elbow. Her other hand immediately found Belle's face. Her neck. Her shoulder. Her spine. Hooked fingers catching on every vertebra, nails biting but never breaking the skin. Belle swallowed her growls of growing need. Red's hand strayed. Clawing, almost rending—gods, _almost—_then curling into a fist and dropping to her side before it could._ Good girl. _Too good to be true. Belle began to pour herself into her, and felt a little savage satisfaction when the growl turned into a whimper. There was nothing more intoxicating than the rush that came from reducing this lean-bodied predator to trembling.

"See?" Belle said quietly when she finally broke away. "I live to fight another day."

"Holy shit, Belle," Red breathed. She fell onto her stomach. "Are you sure about the 'maiden' thing?"

"Last time I checked."

"It's just—" Red laughed a little, running a hand through her hair. "Girls like you aren't supposed to kiss like that."

Belle gave her a sidelong glance. Her head was still spinning. "Oh? Have you kissed many girls like me?"

She had the decency to blush. "It was forever ago. I didn't get to go to town often, so when I did I made the most of it. It was just stupid kid stuff. No one like you. Nothing like _that_. I can't even think straight right now." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Belle, you are destroying me."

Belle was quiet for a moment, wondering, briefly, how she was managing to do that. She had never been anyone of consequence to anyone but her father. Even Gaston had only seen a pretty face. She still found it impossible to think that Red could want her as much as she herself wanted Red, to think that someone like Red, with all her experience, would even take notice. Belle kept waiting for her to get bored of it. Surely she was burning through the other girl's interest too quickly. But, no here they were. Still falling. Gathering speed. _I am dreaming, _Belle thought. _And it's beautiful. _

Red shoved her. "I swear to gods you space out at the worst times."

Belle smiled and kissed her above her brow.

* * *

She didn't remember falling asleep, and when she woke up, the rain had finally stopped. Red's side of the bed was empty and cooling. At some point during her absence Belle had, in her sleep, curled around the other girl's pillow. She clutched it closer now, inhaling deeply of Red's warm, dark scent, something that could really only be described as musky. Her head swam. The prospect of actually getting up was staggering. She supposed she was still recovering from the exhaustion her escape attempt. It'd been less than twenty-four hours ago, but it felt like more than a lifetime.

"I heard you rustling," Red said from somewhere behind her. "Does that mean you've rejoined the living?"

Belle rolled over, squinting. Red stood in the doorway, gnawing on a length of jerky.

"Isn't that the meat for the Sheriff?" Belle asked groggily.

Red shrugged, polishing it off. "He can kiss my ass. You want me to get you some?"

Belle grinned and sat up. "I'm good."

"Well, I'm making soup if you're getting hungry. Should be done by suppertime."

"Good choice for a rainy day," Belle said, nodding in approval.

"Good choice for when all you know how to do is throw shit in boiling water. I'm getting good at dicing vegetables, though. Just in case you thought I was never paying attention when you tried to show me. There's probably only a couple leaves this time."

"You're really selling it, here," Belle said with a smirk. But she was touched all the same. She considered her, still hugging the pillow. "Red, can I ask you something?"

Red froze. "Oh, gods."

"No, it's nothing bad. I've just…been wondering something. Purely academic." Belle hesitated. This had been a near-perfect day, the kind you would remember on dark winters for the rest of your life. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin it by bringing up the trials that had brought them here.

But she'd committed to staying. She had to know.

"How did you turn without a full moon yesterday?"

Red seemed to tense a little. She came over and sat at the end of the bed. "You're scared I'm going to do it again?"

"No! Actually, I think it's a really good thing. You were conscious the whole time, right? But I don't know how you did that, either."

Red was quiet for a moment, not quite meeting Belle's eyes. She drummed her fingers in that nervous way she had of doing. Belle waited.

"I've done it once before," she said finally.

_When? _Belle almost asked, but as soon as she thought it, she knew.

"The huntsman."

Red nodded. Belle could still remember the day the news of his death had spread across the town, the panic that had settled in. It was surreal to think that the beast they'd all been dreading was actually this girl in front of her, this girl who couldn't chop onions—and even more surreal to think that Belle herself would be here with her.

"So what happened?" Belle asked quietly.

Red flinched. "It's not a nice story."

"I got bored of nice stories a long time ago. I want to help, Red."

Maybe Red just wasn't ready to talk about it yet, in which case, Belle supposed she had to respect that. But her curiosity was more rabid than ever, and she couldn't help but perk up when Red finally started talking.

"I was still pretty new to the wolf thing," she began. "In between my fifth and sixth turns. I hated it. I had a lot of blood on my hands by then. I didn't see the aftermath, not like I did when they started bringing the prisoners my way, but the wolf remembers every face. Sometimes I'd have nightmares. There were more than a few nights when I just didn't go to sleep.

"No one knew I was the beast yet," she continued. "They thought Granny and I were dead. I was too scared to go into town—too ashamed, honestly—still am—and anyone who might've wanted to check up on our old place must have gotten scared off by the attacks."

Belle nodded. "People were saying Sherwood was cursed."

"Exactly. So imagine my surprise when, two weeks after the full moon, I get a knock on my door. I peek out the window and see it's the huntsman, and he has this axe…" Red paused, trying to measure it out with her hands. "…just this massive axe, Belle. It looked like it could have beheaded a giant. And the blade was made of silver."

_Silver, so what? _Belle stiffened as she realized. Red had just confessed her weakness to her.

"So that's…what kills the wolf? Silver?" She had to clarify.

Red met her eyes for the first time. "It's the only thing that does. Anything less is just…" she shrugged. "An inconvenience. The huntsman, he obviously knew this. But not many people do. It's something we try to keep secret."

"_We." _That was new, too. Red had never referred to her kind as a collective before. This was clearly something exclusive, something that belonged just to her. Belle knew she had to tread as carefully here as she would in a temple. No jokes. No questions.

_Just shut up and listen._

"I don't think he ever meant to stop by the cottage," Red continued. "But he must have been surprised to see that it was obviously inhabited. I think, if anything, he wanted to warn me. Or run me off, if I turned out to be a squatter. He knocked on my door again when I didn't answer, and he called out in this deep voice, 'Old woman, are you home?' And I got so excited, thinking maybe he knew something about Granny, that I opened the door right away." She laughed a little. "Stupid."

Belle, still silent, pulled her knees up to her chest.

"He looked just as surprised to see me," Red went on. "He knew Granny—all the hunters talk—so he'd heard of me, but, like everyone else, he'd assumed I was dead.

"'Are you the granddaughter?' he asked. 'Do you live here?' And I nodded, and I asked him if he knew anything about Granny, since he seemed to be looking for her. But he just said no one had seen her in almost half a year, and everyone thought the both of us were gone, along with 'that poor boy Peter.' Then he told me the real reason he was out here was to find and kill the beast that had been terrorizing Nottingham, and that he suspected it was a werewolf."

Red laughed darkly. "I got real nervous then, started asking him all these questions like I knew nothing about it. Probably just made myself look suspicious as hell. My story was full of holes. I had no explanation for why Granny was gone. I had no explanation for why I hadn't been to town in months. I had no explanation for why the beast had never attacked me when I lived in the heart of its territory. Mostly I just tried to act scared and confused. Which was honest enough…but you could still see the suspicion rising in his eyes.

"I started trying to get rid of him. I made up this bullshit about some wolf tracks down by the creek, started begging him to go after the beast immediately because I was just a young girl who would never stand a chance against it. And then all of a sudden, in the middle of my babbling, he pinned me to the doorway. He was strong—even to me, Belle, he was strong—and he still had the axe in the other hand. Just being close to blade was enough to raise my hackles. So I showed my teeth at him and shoved him away. I couldn't help it. And I could see his suspicion growing.

"'You have such strong arms for a _young_ _girl_,' he said, and he stepped a little bit closer. 'I've been shooting bows all my life,' I told him. Then he said, 'You have such strange eyes for a young girl.' And I told him, 'That's just a trick of the light.' Then he stepped a little bit closer, and I could hear him gripping his axe, and he said, 'You have such sharp teeth for a young girl.' And I didn't have a good explanation for that one, and our eyes met. And we knew. He swung his axe up. I barely ducked inside the house in time. I tried to slam the door in his face, but he kicked it open before I could bolt it shut. The force of it sent me flying halfway across the room. So there was me, on the ground, trapped in my own house, and there was him, bearing down, no mercy in his eyes.

"I was just so scared Belle," Red said in a low voice, and in that moment Belle was scared herself. "It was the most afraid I've been in my life. Even if some part of me always thought I deserved to die, that didn't make it any easier to see it coming. So I got to my feet and prepared to fight him for as long as I could."

Red exhaled, running a distracted hand through her hair. "I wasn't expecting the wolf to come out. I didn't even know it could. But when your life's in danger you're capable of things you never thought were possible, and that's exactly how this was. I just…exploded. On a full moon, that was the moment I usually blacked out. This time I didn't. At first I was more terrified than ever. I had no idea what was happening. But then I saw him coming for me, and instinct took over."

Again the dark laugh. "Give him credit, the huntsman never flinched. He still almost killed me. He got this one glancing blow in across my stomach; I still have the scar. If I'd leapt even a second later he would've gutted me like a fish. Instead I tackled him to the ground. I can still taste the exact moment he lost his courage."

Red paused for a minute. Belle could guess well enough what happened next, but she said nothing. She knew a confession was more about the confessor than the person listening.

"Peter's death is the one I regret the most," Red said finally. "But this is the one that upsets me the most. It's the only one I remember from start to finish. And Belle…" She swallowed. "I think it was me who did it. That's what scares me. I wasn't just awake, I was in control. I could've just incapacitated him. Or I at least could've…I don't know…made it quick. But being in that body messes with my mind. Even under the best of circumstances there's all these—cruel instincts, I guess you'd say, but if you're right and the wolf's also driven by my own deepest emotions, then in that moment I was totally drunk on fear." She seemed to be trembling. "I just wanted him gone."

"There's nothing wrong with protecting yourself, Red," Belle said. She'd been quiet for so long she had to clear her throat, but she could no longer hold back. "It was you or him. A huntsman of all people would have understood that. And you're hardly the first person to let your judgment be clouded by fear. We're all guilty of that."

Red just eyed her. "You wouldn't be half so forgiving if you'd been there."

"Well then, thank gods I wasn't. I'm still glad you told me. But Red, I still don't understand how you brought the wolf out yesterday. Your life wasn't in danger then."

"Yeah," she said, shifting a little uncomfortably. "But yours was, and it feels like the same thing."

Belle's heart tugged in her chest. She held the pillow closer.

"And, I mean, the wolf's instincts were telling me you were fair game," Red continued. "But my deepest emotion in _that_ moment…" She laughed self-consciously. "I guess that was enough."

"Red. Come here," Belle said. The ache in her chest had become unbearable. She drew the other girl into an embrace.

Red let out a shuddery breath of relief. "I was so scared to tell you about that."

"Why? Gods, Red, it explains so much. That's why I was able to convince you so quickly that the wolf could be controlled, isn't it? Because you'd managed it once before."

"Yeah, but look what happened," she protested.

"Never again. I promise. We're figuring this thing out. We'll get it in time."

Red was quiet for a moment, her head resting against Belle's shoulder. Belle supposed she was wondering whether her promises were worth anything anymore. Belle hoped desperately that they were. She had every intention of keeping these. But when the other girl spoke again, her words were eerily similar to Belle's own thoughts that morning.

"I keep waiting for you to wake up, Belle," she said in a low voice.

"Then we'll be waiting here a very long time."

Red's relief was tangible. They were quiet for another long moment, neither in any hurry to move. Then Red seemed to gather herself, kissing Belle on the neck and sitting up.

"Well," she sighed, now looking a little embarrassed. "Is there anything else you're _wondering_, or should I go check on supper?"

"Actually—"

"Okay, hell no, I was being rhetorical."

"It's an easy question," Belle insisted.

Red narrowed her eyes.

"I just want to know if you saved the girl."

"_What_ girl?"

"The one you heard scream for help. The one being attacked by soldiers. I need closure on these things."

"Oh, her." Red smiled a little. "She turned out to not to be as helpless as I thought. By the time I got there she had half the soldiers full of arrows. I just helped point her in the right direction."

_Well, damn. _"What, was she some kind of soldier herself?"

Red shrugged. "Just some bandit the queen wants dead. I guess you were right. Maybe there are some decent outlaws running around."

"Some decent werewolves, too, I've heard."

"Nope. They're all cynical bastards."

And with that, she kissed Belle affectionately on the crown of her head and left.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Alright friends, classes just started back up for me and it's already messed with my writing schedule, so apologies in advance if these updates get sporadic. Promise I'm still invested. Also someone asked last week if this was going up to M, to which I'd have to say no...but we'll push it as far as possible, yeah? (: And finally credit to tumblr user becksthewolf for inspiring "pup" as a pet name, it's perfect. Thanks and enjoy.**

**Chapter 11**

**18 Days**

Red was just happy to be running again.

There was still a shaky part of her that was convinced if she left she would come back and find Belle gone. But it'd been three days now since Belle had chosen to stay, and she'd given no sign of having second thoughts. In fact, she'd been disappointed when Red had gone. In all that time they hadn't been apart once.

Which was why Red had to do this. The wolf was getting restless playing at house, and she could feel it starting to claw away at her sanity. She didn't want to let it get the better of her, not now, not when everything was going so well. This thing they had was like running down a sharp, steep hill—it was terrifying and exhilarating and it felt like flying and Red couldn't have stopped it even if she wanted to, but she also knew it would take only the slightest lapse in concentration to slip and wind up broken in the dirt. Better by far to exercise some caution.

Of course, at the moment, she was trying to avoid slipping up in a more literal sense. The ground was rocky here, and she was running near top speeds. But the wolf seemed to enjoy the challenge, and it was finally starting to feel like winter, which she liked. Summer heat always left Red feeling sleepy and lethargic—_Oh, hell_, she thought, the other girl's scholar-talk was wearing off on her—but the clear-cut cold woke her up and brought her alive.

Red adjusted her course slightly, hurdling a fallen tree. Usually when she went for a run she didn't bother setting a destination, but today was different. She was looking for a little clearing she liked. There was an...experiment she needed to carry out, and she wanted space and solitude.

It was Belle, unsurprisingly, who had inspired her, even if she hadn't meant to this time. Red had been dreading telling the other girl about the huntsman, not her bloodiest secret but certainly her darkest one, the one that kept her up at night wondering if maybe she was beyond saving after all. She'd been conscious, she'd been ruthless, and she'd just—_enjoyed_ it a little too much. But somehow Belle had found a way to forgive that and even turn it into a good thing. She hadn't just been bullshitting her with blind, knee-jerk optimism, either. It was genuine faith, practical but patient, and Red had felt it wash away fear and shame she'd been stained with for so long she'd forgotten who she was without it. If Belle _still, _now knowing everything,wasn't afraid of her letting the wolf out, then maybe Red was being the shortsighted one.

Besides, Red was lying to herself if there wasn't a part of her that had been itching to do this anyway. Bringing the wolf out to save Belle had only seemed to whet her appetite for change. Maybe, Red thought, _maybe,_ she had come far enough along that she could summon it now not because she needed to but simply because she wanted to. And _maybe_, like Belle seemed to think, that wasn't an inherently bad thing.

But…still…space and solitude. Just in case things took a turn. She still didn't know exactly what she was doing.

It struck Red then, painfully, as it did from time to time, how much easier this all would have been if she'd only had her mother. Or any other wolf, really, but it would've been nice to learn these things from the same woman who, supposedly, was supposed to have taught her how to mend buttons and bake bread. It was the one thing Granny never could have helped with, even if she'd been inclined to. She _knew _about the curse, but she didn't _understand. _She'd missed things. She'd been afraid of it. She hadn't prepared Red for her first turn or been prepared herself. Sometimes Red couldn't help but give into fantasies where she'd grown up with her mother instead. That always felt like the worst kind of betrayal, as if she loved Granny less for it somehow, but it was hard not to wonder. Her mother just would have _gotten _it. Her mother wouldn't have left_._ They could've been a pack, even if it was just the two of them. Red could feel how much the wolf wanted that; it knew instinctively it wasn't built to be alone, just as surely as it knew that the full moon was good and silver was bad. Red was sure half of its fear and frustration would evaporate if only it had someone to run with.

It was a pipedream, of course, stupid kids' stuff. Red was old enough now to know her mother for what she really was—selfish, reckless, batshit crazy, someone who had lost touch with her human half. Of course she wouldn't have been there for Red's first turn. She hadn't even stuck around for Red's first birthday. She'd used Red's father and discarded him. She'd made Granny's life a nightmare. Whenever Red got over her wishful thinking it was usually replaced by gratitude that she _hadn't_ been raised by her mother and terror that she would become her anyway. It was probably better she was figuring this thing out alone, even if it hurt.

But then, Red thought, the longing ache in chest loosening, she wasn't really alone anymore. Belle may not have been a wolf, but she knew how to mend buttons and bake bread, and she wasn't afraid of Red's curse, and she seemed to get it better than Red did herself. So maybe, if Red figured this out, they could be a pack. Even if it was just the two of them.

Red slowed to a walk as she came to the clearing, a gap in the foliage where a giant evergreen had fallen and left a hole in the canopy. The thin sunlight fell in a pale column, lighting up the forest floor like a stage. She picked up scent of three or four deer that had passed by recently, all of them obviously unconcerned that she came here often. The herd had already gotten impudent. She supposed that's what happened when your local pack of wolves was systematically wiped out by a monster with only the barest shred of self-control to keep its cursed-addled mind in check—

_Bad idea. This is a bad idea. _

_No. Don't start. It's fine. You're fine. _Red stopped in the middle of the clearing and took a deep breath, sitting down with her back against the fallen log. At the end of the day, her relationship with Belle—hell, her relationship with _herself—_depended on her relationship with the wolf. She at least had to try.

So, she closed her eyes, and tried.

At first, still more than a little self-conscious, Red just sat in the quiet and waited, hoping the wolf would come forward on its own. It was always trying to. This time she'd let it. But a few minutes passed and the wolf remained at a simmer. Her mind began to wander. She started to feel like an asshole. This seemed impossible. Probably it was.

_Well, maybe if you weren't so passive about it. Maybe if you tried actively concentrating for even thirty seconds. _

She gritted her teeth. Belle was good at concentrating; she daydreamed with purpose. Over the past couple days she'd been trying to help Red do the same. But Red felt like she needed a jolt of adrenaline to stay focused on anything. This quiet, risk-free environment was the opposite of what usually brought her wolf out, and already her fingers drummed against her knee with impatience. Maybe she should go for a walk first, just to let off some of the loose energy from her run—

No. She had to commit to this. She wasn't going home a failure. Belle would be none the wiser, but Red would feel like she'd let her down anyway.

So, taking a second deep breath, Red swept aside her lingering doubt and let her mental defenses drop in earnest, opening herself up to the mental background noise she'd grown so used to living with. Everything the wolf observed, everything it feared, everything it wanted. The results were immediate and terrifying. The beast flooded her mind, making her tense up with its overwhelming, restless energy. Her fingers curled into claws and raked the soil. Her mouth ticked up in a snarl.

This was exactly the loss of control Red had been afraid of exposing Belle to. Her heart, her still-very-human-heart, hammered with distress. The wolf _wanted_—to run, to hunt, to find more of its own. It was all she could do to rein it in enough to keep herself from leaping up right then and there. A frustrated growl slipped through her teeth. Red had been practicing getting in touch with this side of her, learning to accept it, but this…this wasn't harmony. This was a hostile takeover. She was more wolf than girl, and getting wilder by the second.

So why—the _hell_—wasn't she actually turning?

And gods, how she needed it out now. The wolf knew how close it was; it could taste its freedom. She could feel it as a scratching in her ribs, as an agonizing tingle in the ends of her fingers and the roots of her teeth. Her skin began to feel too tight. Red curled her knees up to her chest and bowed her head. Much longer and this was going to kill her.

She took a third deep breath. There was still a part of her trying to contain this, still a part of her clinging to her humanity out of fear. But she had to remember that the girl was nothing more than a vessel for whoever she really was. Red was finally, finally beginning to understand that. She wasn't going to lose herself if she did this. She was just returning to her second home.

The tension ran out of her shoulders, and a shudder racked her body. There was none of the excruciating, drawn-out shaking of her full-moon turns, or the brutally condensed crunch of the turns that came over her in a crisis. She just exhaled into it.

_Yes. Gods, yes. _

She took off running again, and this time without the fear.

* * *

When Red returned, human once again, she found Belle reading at the table outside and wrapped up in a wooly blanket. It was tempting to sneak around and scare her, but Red was too excited for stealth. Instead she vaulted up onto the table without breaking stride, landing in a relaxed crouch and grinning hugely.

Belle jumped, then mirrored Red's grin with a half-smile of her own. "It's like you're trying to give me a heart attack and break your neck at the same time."

"Belle, I have the best news."

She closed the book. "You've discovered a secret passion for fire eating. We hit the road tomorrow."

"Close. But even better."

Belle's smile shifted into genuine surprise. "Must be. You're practically glowing, love."

"Because I finally did it," Red blurted. She sounded like a hyperactive little kid and she didn't even care. "I just changed without anything forcing me to, and I controlled the wolf the whole time."

"Really?" Belle's face lit up. "So that's why you were gone so long. I was beginning to worry."

Red sat. "Yeah. I stayed a wolf for a long time. It was nerve-wracking at first because it just had a lot of…enthusiasm. But I think it was like you said, that one time. The only reason I was blacking out was because I didn't want to accept what was happening. And, like, I stayed awake for you and the huntsman, but those were extreme circumstances, so I kind of _had_ to face what was happening, but this wasn't, obviously, so I wasn't sure what I was going to get. Like, you see why I was scared to go through with it. But then I did." Red laughed self-consciously.

"Hell yes you did," Belle agreed, her grin returning. "I'm not even surprised, Red; I'm just ecstatic. We have to find a way to celebrate."

"I already feel a little drunk, honestly."

"Could you show me now?"

"What? You mean change again?"

Belle nodded.

Red came down from her orbit a bit. "I don't know if that's a good idea. The beast is still…I mean, a beast. I'm just hanging on for dear life with it right now. It's not broken in yet." She perked back up. "But I'll practice."

"Well, don't get too tame on me," Belle said. "I like you a little dangerous."

This day just kept getting better.

"What about you?" Red asked, forcing herself not to get distracted by the arch of the other girl's eyebrow. "What have you been doing all this time?" She'd been worried about her, out here alone, but Belle had convinced her she was being paranoid.

"Reading," Belle replied. "But you knew that."

Red peeked at the book's cover. "Wait, is this the same book I gave you last week? I thought you finished it."

"I'm reading it again."

_And she's already halfway through. Holy shit, she's an animal. _"I guess I need to get you another."

"You still haven't told me where you got _this _one."

"Wouldn't want to give away all my secrets." She was going for mysterious, but she couldn't even take herself seriously right now. "Belle, let's run away. Let's go be fire eaters. I'll buy you every book there is."

"Gods, you are drunk," she laughed.

"Yeah, I think I need to take a walk. Just to let off some of this energy. Like I know I've been moving all day, but maybe that's the problem."

Belle's face looked hopeful. "Would it be another bad idea for me to come along?"

"I'm not leaving without you."

* * *

Later that night they lied together in the dark, settled into the sides of the bed they had each begun to think of as their own. It was the first time Red could remember being close to her without it kicking up trouble with the wolf. She could still feel it, she knew she'd always feel it, but it'd subsided to a strong glow in her chest, finally content after a full day of running through the woods. She felt electrified, invincible, and in that moment it was hard to think of herself as cursed.

Maybe it was that euphoria; maybe it was the wolf's feral influence; maybe she'd just spent too long this afternoon enjoying the easy swing of the other girl's hips on their walk. Whatever the reason, Red found her hand straying down from its resting place just below Belle's ribcage.

"Belle," she said quietly. "You still feel like celebrating?"

Belle chuckled, but Red could hear her heart racing with nervous energy. "What's wrong with spooning?"

"Nothing, it's great, I just…feel a little more like a fork tonight." Every night, if she was being honest, but Belle made her nervous in a way she'd never been nervous before. Up to this point she'd been afraid to do more than joke. It just _mattered _so much more with her, and there was more than one way to scare a girl off.

_Shit, _Red thoughtwhen Belle got quiet. _Shit. Shit. _

"Red," she said at last, turning to face her. She brought a hand to Red's face, gently reading its lines in the dark. "You are an exquisite creature. I have to remind myself every day that you're real. You're beautiful like the poetry that breaks my heart—"

Red's heart soared.

"—but I think we should wait."

And sank.

_Wait…for what, exactly? For the price of grain to go down? For the geese to fly south? _Red had never quite understood the allure of waiting, even less so now. She'd seen too much of death to trust anything to the future. But she knew she had to be careful here.

"I want it to feel right," Belle continued. "It just doesn't feel like it's time yet."

"Okay."

"Is it though? Okay?"

Red swallowed a sigh. "Of course it is, babe. I'm not going anywhere."

Belle's relief was palpable. She kissed her gratefully. Red hesitated before speaking again.

"It's not because you're afraid of me, is it?" she asked finally.

Belle flashed a Cheshire grin in the dark. "Pup, please. You know I'm not."

Red let the sigh out. "Okay, good."

"You really do seem like you're changing for the better, Red," she added. "You're so much lighter. I'm glad you did what you did today."

Belle kissed her one more time and turned back around, and they fell into the familiar shapes of each others' bodies. Red knew it would be an endless hour or more before she drifted off.

Apparently no matter what she did, she'd always end up hungering for the girl next to her.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Snuck in one more chapter before Labor Day here. Been excited for this one. Also we just passed 100 followers, so thank you all for that! Made my day. (: **

**Chapter 12**

**15 Days**

Belle let the quill hover above the parchment, afraid to waste ink on words she'd only want to change. She'd written this letter in her head a dozen different ways since sitting down at Granny's writing desk, but she was still unsatisfied with the results. There was so much to say in so little space.

She wanted to get a message to her father. Red had suggested that the Sheriff's tradesmen could smuggle the letter back to Nottingham when they came with their goods tomorrow. Unlike the Sheriff, she'd explained, the couriers were decent enough men—and, also unlike the Sheriff, they hadn't yet lost their unconditional fear of her. So if they couldn't be convinced into this one act of kindness, they certainly could be bullied into it. Belle would usually be above such things, but this felt like a special circumstance. She could think of no other way communicate with him.

Red was out hunting again, accounting for her end of the bargain. Furs and meat on their end, grains and produce from the Sheriff. It was framed as a necessary layer of their contract, but really it was just another way for him to control how Red lived her life. It reinforced the idea that she wasn't worthy of going into town for these things herself, suggested that she was incapable of taking care of herself without his help, distracted from the fact that she was actually the one with all the leverage. Belle saw the manipulation clearly and despised him for it. She was sure the two of them could make it out here without his luxuries—plant a little garden, do a little fishing and gathering from time to time. Their pride was worth the trouble.

Not, of course, that said luxuries would be forthcoming after this month. When—_not_ "if," Belle told herself—she wasn't executed in two weeks' time (and that she was both only and already halfway through her ordeal seemed unbelievable; her nights in the shed were a lifetime ago, but the past few days had gone by in a blur), then the contract would be effectively broken. No more "patrons," to use Red's word, no more trading, no more amnesty. How the Sheriff would retaliate and how they would respond, Belle still had no idea. But Red might very well have to make a run for it—in which case Belle had decided to go with her.

All the more reason this letter was necessary.

_Dear Father, _Belle began. That much at least was safe to say. _I'm sure my words come as little comfort given our circumstances, but the fact that I have even written them should be some indication that things are not as bad as they could be. I am eating well, sleeping well, and treated well, and my captor is not the monster the Sheriff would have us think she is. In fact, she is girl only a little older than me, with a good heart despite the burden of the curse she carries. I have been trying my best to help her with that burden, and in the process have we have become…_Belle hesitated, chewing her lip. _…close. I do not believe she will hurt me now, though I will not tempt fate by making promises._

_However, even if I survive the full moon, I am certain the Sheriff would want to have me killed anyway, if only to preserve his reputation. He would no doubt want to punish this girl, Red, as well, for disobeying him—though of course, she has proven herself to be quite resilient to his previous attempts on her life. Since the Sheriff knows this, we hope some kind of agreement may be reached when he returns here the morning after the full moon. If Red truly has mastered her condition by then, the contract won't be necessary anyway. But I have learned things about this man, both from Red and from my own experience, and I know him now to be craven and cruel. I find it much more likely it will come to bloodshed, and we may have to flee the long reach of his lawmen to avoid it. And so, for this reason, I find myself writing the goodbye I wish I had gotten to tell you in person. It is my deep hope that it is not forever, or even for long. _

_But—just in case._

Belle took a shuddery breath, tears standing in her eyes. Explaining her situation had been easy. Explaining her feelings about it would not be.

_One: Know that I've missed you every day and always will. I confess I nearly got myself run down by wolves trying to find my way back home earlier on, so badly I wanted to see you. Luckily Red saved me, and helped me see reason—usually your line of work. It's clearer to me now that whatever life we once had belongs solely to the past, but I'm still grateful for every minute of it. I would never have lasted half so long without the things you taught me: your patience, your humor, your love of learning. We enjoyed more love between the two of us than some families see in three generations, and it warms me still. I hope you feel the same. _

_Two: Know that I have never once regretted my decision to take your place._ _The more I learn about the corruption that plagues our kingdom, the prouder I am to know that you have resisted it. If, by thwarting your arrest and shedding light on the Sheriff's inhumanity, I have made even a fraction of the progress you've gained us, then I will consider myself worthy of our name. Beyond that, you may be comforted to know that I believe there was an element of…providence, almost, about my being here. It feels as if everything I've done, everything I am; all the decisions I've made and all the decisions made for me, have been preparing me for what's happening right now. I am doing good here, Father, and it's done me good to do it. It sounds foolish to put it on paper, but I am beginning to think it was always my purpose to come here._

Belle paused then, wondering if she had the courage to go on to her final point. She had been conspicuously coy so far; Red was, for reasons innumerable, not what her father had probably had in mind for her true love. But she had no idea if or when she'd ever see or speak to her father again—if nothing else, she owed him the truth as to why.

So she let out a long breath and set her quill to the parchment.

_And, finally, know that with Red I am loved, and love, more deeply than I had thought possible. This is the reason I am still here. I spent many long nights with my heart divided, longing both for home and family and for this new bright thing, this song come alive. I wished, often and foolishly, you could have been there to give me guidance. Instead, I had to follow my own instincts and trust the part you played in honing them. And in the end, I decided you would have told me to cultivate this new love, and not to let the shade of more aged timber starve it before it even has a chance to grow (such is the image that occurs to me, out here in this strange wood). I hope to gods I was right in that. Certainly it _feels _like the right decision, now that I'm on the other side of it. But "right" and "easy" have never kept good company. Perhaps that's why this still hurts. I live in fear you will think me selfish or reckless, and I could not bear it if you did. So that, too, is why I write this letter. You have taught me so well how to love. Now I ask only that you forgive me for giving into it. _

_I will think of you often and always. Say hello to the contraptions for me._

_All the love, Belle_

Belle read it over three more times. It seemed at once like too much honesty and not enough. She needed it to be perfect. The tears that had been standing in her eyes slipped and fell as she read it once more, one of them smearing the ink of her signature. The panic from this just caused her to cry more, and she slid back sharply from the desk before she could ruin the precious parchment.

"Hey, no, what's wrong?" She jumped at the sudden sound of Red's voice, tender as a hand held in the dark. She looked up and saw the other girl in the bedroom doorway, making her way towards her with a look of concern. Belle rolled up the parchment hastily and shoved it away. The idea of Red seeing those earnest words was terrifying. _True love _was not a concept either of them were supposed to believe in. Sincerity, yes. Eternity? Less so.

"How long have you been standing there?" Belle demanded. She felt almost violated. Red stopped short at her sharp tone.

"Just a few minutes. I didn't want to interrupt you. I loved watching you write." She drooped a bit. "Maybe not a good idea?"

"Probably not, no. You caught me at a fragile moment. I thought I was alone." Belle scrubbed her eyes dry furiously. "Aren't you supposed to be hunting?"

"Yeah, I was. For this. I was going to surprise you." Belle noticed, for the first time, the leather-bound book in her hand. Red held it up awkwardly, clearly afraid to come any closer. "Listen, Belle, if you want me to come back later—"

"No, I'm sorry." Gods, if she wasn't a mess today. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I was just—getting a little homesick. Please. Stay." _Please. _Suddenly the idea of being alone again was unbearable.

Red hesitated a beat longer, then came and sat cross-legged on the bed.

"I saw you finished the first book again last night, so I went and got you this one," she explained. Belle took the book from her. It was an encyclopedia of mythical creatures, heavier than she expected, and worn smooth with age. Belle cracked it open and inhaled.

"Since you like monsters," Red went on. "Or, I mean, at least you like me."

"Red…" She ran her fingers over the darkened pictures. She would lose herself in this for hours. "This is perfect. It's' like you knew this was exactly what I needed today."

Red smiled with relief. "Good. Glad I put off all my actual responsibilities to go get it then." She paused for a moment while Belle flipped through the pages. "How's the letter coming?"

"Took me all day, but I think it's done," Belle sighed, closing the book but keeping it close. "I hope he gets it," she said in a lower voice.

"He will. I'll make sure of it." Red's smile slipped. "You really miss him, don't you?"

Belle flinched. She needed to play this down. "Of course, but that's just how it is sometimes, isn't it? Don't you miss your grandmother?"

"Yeah, but that's different. She _chose_ to leave. You guys…it was forced." She drummed her fingers. "Belle, if you're having second thoughts—"

"_No_."

"Okay. Because I could still take you back to him, you know. You'd have to find someplace else to live, you'd have to run immediately, but if that's what you want—"

"Would you come with us?"

Red dropped her eyes. "That wouldn't be right. Not when I don't know what's going to happen during wolf's time."

"Then, no. That doesn't even sound appealing. And my father's too old to pick up his life again like that. Honestly, I don't have any regrets, Red. I even said that in the letter." She didn't mention the heartfelt tangent about providence and purpose, though she wondered, seeing how insecure Red suddenly seemed, if maybe she should. "Go on, see if I'm lying."

"You're not lying," she mumbled.

"See?" She swallowed and put on a brave face. "Now go get comfortable so we can read this book. We're going to educate ourselves."

* * *

Belle had been right: the book kept her busy for hours, and soon had her feeling more like herself again. It was near-dark now, and she still had only just made a dent in its contents. The entries were alphabetical. She was currently learning about centaurs.

Red leaned with her head against Belle's shoulder, daydreaming. She'd kept up reading with Belle for a little while. Then she'd moved on to do a bit of woodcarving, a hobby she said she'd learned from Peter. Now even that had lost her interest, and she fidgeted impatiently every few seconds. Belle flipped the page and kept reading. Eventually she felt a playful tug of teeth on her ear.

"Don't be an animal, love, I'm trying to read," Belle said distractedly.

"But you've been reading for_ever_," Red said. She let out a sigh of mock exasperation and collapsed, lying with her head in Belle's lap.

"I'm _learning_," Belle corrected, uncomfortably comfortable with this new arrangement. "You never know. It might teach us something useful."

"Am I in it?"

"Maybe. I don't know whether you'd be under _werewolves, lycanthropes, _or _shapeshifters._"

"Try _badasses_," Red suggested.

Belle laughed lightly. "I must have missed it." She glanced down briefly, and Red rewarded her with a rueful grin. Belle ached to reach down and stroke the hair back from her forehead, but the book was heavy and took two hands. She forced herself to return to it.

She froze a few pages later.

"Red…what about _children of the moon_? Does that ring a bell?"

"No, why?"

"There's an entry here—a long one—that looks like it could be about you."

"Really? What's it say?"

Belle raised an eyebrow. "You want me to read the whole thing?"

"Just the good parts."

Belle nodded. "_Children of the moon, so called because the distinctive effect of the lunar cycle on their magic, are individuals blessed with the ability to shapeshift between human form and that of a beast—most commonly a wolf. Unlike those who are turned _into _beasts by outside magic, children of the moon are inherently magic themselves and can retain sentience in their animal forms and switch back and forth at will. Over time, these shapeshifters may come to prefer one form or the other in body—but in spirit, they are never truly one nor the other. Those who are unable to find peace with this duality are prone to madness and often lash out. However, contrary to popular belief, violence is not an inherent characteristic of the species._"

Belle paused to gauge Red's reaction.

"_Blessed?_"

"Seriously? That's all you got from that?"

"Pretty progressive for such an old-ass book."

"Not progressive. Just informed. Someone actually did their research here, rather than listening to angry mobs. And it _is _a blessing, now that I think about it. You get two bodies while the rest of us have to get by with one."

"I mean, you got a pretty good one."

Belle bonked her on the head with the book. "No. You just want sexual favors."

Red chuckled. "What else does it say?"

Belle glanced back at the passage. "They're talking about abilities and weaknesses, some of the stuff you've already mentioned…the first turn...healing and aging…is it true you're allergic to wolfsbane?"

She scowled. "Maybe. Shit. I don't even know."

Belle got a sudden image of the wolf sneezing and had to hold back a grin. "No mention of the silver, surprisingly. You weren't kidding about that being a secret, were you? How to recognize werewolves in their human form…oh, this is interesting. _'How the Gift is Given.' Most children of the moon inherit their abilities from their parents. The child of two shapeshifters will always have the gift, while the child of only one may or may not. It is a common misconception that the offspring of such mixed unions will become halflings; however, _these_ rare individuals—mentally as much as composite as full-blooded shapeshifters but physically unable to turn—are in fact the result of a bite or scratch received by a ordinary individual from a child of the moon during their wolf's time.'_"

Belle felt a mild horror at that. "Good thing you're so fond of nibbling on my ear."

"Okay, I knew _nothing _about that one," Red said defensively. "And besides, it's not wolf's time yet."

"Well then, it's good we're reading this now. How has it _never _occurred to you to look for a book like this before?"

"Until a few weeks ago it never occurred to me to even get out of bed in the morning," she replied in a dry voice. "Besides, we don't know if half of this stuff is true. Obviously they don't know everything."

"Fair enough," Belle said, nodding. There were a couple pages dedicated to diagrams. A brief look, mostly speculative, on pack dynamics. The passage was winding down. She skimmed ahead.

And almost missed it.

"_There is no known way to reverse the magic children of the moon are born with, though many, due to the stigma associated with their kind, have sought out in vain for such a 'cure.'" _Belle began speeding up in her excitement. "_However, there are multiple ways to temporarily subdue its effects. Certain potions using wolfsbane, though lethal in excess, when administered correctly, can briefly hinder a shapeshifter's ability to change form. In addition, there are also certain magical cloaks that are said to be able to keep a child of the moon in their human form during their wolf's time, when the pull of the moon would otherwise be too strong to be resisted. They serve in opposite function to similar magical cloaks that ordinary individuals may use to shapeshift in the first place. Though the potions are far, far easier to come by, the cloaks are the more elegant solution as they carry no risk._"

"_That _is bullshit," Red said immediately.

Belle shot her a glare. "How do you know?"

"No, I mean, not because it's not true, because—" Red struggled for a moment. "I mean, all this effort I've been putting into embracing the wolf, and here they're listing all these _elegant _ways to repress it? Poisoning myself? Hiding under a blanket? Wouldn't it be better to just be able to control myself when it happens?"

"Of course," Belle said, alarmed. She silently cursed herself for not realizing how hypocritical this all would sound. "It's just—I don't know, it's a backup. If you wanted to be sure. It just seems like something to think about."

"I think I'd rather rampage through the village."

Belle sighed and finally set the book down, running her fingers through Red's hair. "I'm sorry, love. You're right, of course."

"I don't know. Maybe I'm not, that's the hell of it." She met Belle's eyes. "Belle, does the wolf freak you out? I mean, I know it doesn't scare you, but does it…turn you off? Is that why?"

Gods, _where _did this insecurity come from? She was half a god. "Red." Belle looked at her squarely. "I like to think it's to my credit I've been able to concentrate at all the past fifteen minutes. Never confuse my discretion for disinterest. I am verymuch _not_ freaked out."

"Okay," Red said after a moment, but she didn't look terribly reassured. Suddenly Belle remembered their conversation from earlier today, when Red had been worried about her wanting to leave. The other girl truly seemed to have no idea how strong a hold she had on her, how _deep _this was for Belle. _Deeper than I had thought possible. _

Belle thought back on the words she'd written to her father. It had taken all her courage to put them on paper. To say them out loud, to say them to Red, to make herself even more vulnerable than she already was or ever had been—it was equivalent to stepping off a cliff and hoping there was someone at the bottom to catch you.

"Red, look at me." She paused, tasting the words, finding them good. "I love you."

Red, obliging, looked at her, her face frozen for a moment with fear. Belle's heart hammered as the silence stretched on, infinite degrees of a single second. Then, Red's face relaxed into a relieved smile.

"I love you, too."

They laughed a little self-consciously, suddenly lighter than air, and leaned in for a kiss.

* * *

Red heard the Sheriff's tradesmen coming the next morning before she saw them. Belle, at her own suggestion, went back to shed, where she intended to stay for the duration of the transaction. It was one thing to ask the Sheriff's men to deliver a letter on her behalf, but if they saw her wandering free, they were bound to intervene. Better that the lawmen remained ignorant of how lax things had become, even if it meant staying here all day.

It was a strange thing, though, to be back inside these walls. They still thrummed with the savage energy of what Red had once been, home to all of her worst memories and deepest regrets. She was not that person anymore, and neither was Belle the girl who had lived here two weeks ago. Belle knew they were both stronger than the fearful pull of this place.

But that still didn't mean she was enjoying herself.

She had positioned herself near the door, partially so she could watch what was happening, mostly because she wanted sunlight and fresh air. She could see Red skinning a deer she had caught early that morning. She had all of the skill she'd displayed skinning the elk, but she'd lost her focus. She seemed distracted.

_It's fine. I'm fine; you're fine. We're fine. _Belle thought, even going so far as to whisper under her breath, trusting the other girl to catch it. It seemed to help.

After a little while Belle could hear the tradesmen approaching herself, singing a loud drinking song. That was…unexpected. Red had said the couriers were decent, yes, but _merry_?

It should have been her first sign that something was off.

Red stopped what she was doing, wandering over to the well to clean her hands. Belle craned her neck so she could see better. After what seemed like an eternity, the song only swelling louder, the caravan emerged from the forest road.

It was not the Sheriff's men that drove these wagons. The Sheriff's men, Belle calculated in those first moments, were likely lying on the side of the road, dead or dying from a bellyful of arrows. _These _men were the bandits who must have raided them, dressed not in the queen's or Sheriff's colors but in motley greens and browns and blacks, the better to blend in with the trees. All of them were armed to the teeth.

_This is happening. Gods, this is happening. _

Red showed her teeth. Belle stood and fumbled with the door; Red hadn't actually locked it. Belle didn't know what help she could provide, but there was no way she was going to sit back and watch these strangers rob them blind and leave them for dead.

"_What the hell are you doing?_" Red hissed when Belle joined her.

"Maybe I can talk them out of this."

"Bell—"

Red trailed off. The bandits' apparent leader had come forward. Dressed all in green, armed with a beautiful longbow, his face hidden by a hood. Belle scowled.

_Wait a minute…I know these bandits. _Everyone _knows these bandits. _

"Morning, ladies," the outlaw said expansively. "We'll be taking over whatever was happening here, if it's all the same to you. Don't worry, there's no reason for anyone to get hurt—"

He saw Red and froze. He swept his hood back, his expression carved in near-supernatural fear. Belle had seen that face on a dozen, dozen wanted posters. This wasn't just any criminal. This was—

Red's voice cut through her thoughts then, suddenly smaller and more frightened than Belle had ever heard it.

"Peter?"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey friends! Strong language warning here. This one might feel like a bit of a detour, but I promise there's a method to the madness. Thanks as always for the kind reviews.**

**Chapter 13**

**14 Days**

_I'm losing it._

That was the only explanation. She'd pushed her mind too far and now it was broken, making her see ghosts in the faces of strangers. There was no way it could _actually _be him. People didn't come back from the dead, not even with magic, not even in this place. The world wasn't yet that mad.

"Peter," the doppelganger repeated. He laughed with disbelief. "No one's called me that in years."

Oh, gods, his smile. It was him. She took a hurried step back. Her heart was somewhere in her throat.

"Red," Belle whispered, her voice laced with concern. "That's not…" She seemed confused. "…That's Robin Hood. Everyone in town knows about him. He's actually something of a hero."

"Your friend's right," Peter said. _How the hell did he hear her? _"I go by a different name now. But I'm still me, and you're still..._alive._" Again the laugh. He ran a hand through his mop of brown curls. "I can't believe this. Damned if you don't look the exact same."

"Something wrong, Robin?" One of the other bandits sidled up to his side, a scarred man who looked like he could've been half-giant.

"No, Little John," Peter said. "Something very right. Tell the boys to set up camp. We're stopping here for the day."

Little John scowled. "Already? It's still midday. I thought we were taking the haul—"

Peter speared him with a glare. "We're stopping."

And that settled it. The men got to work. Red's confusion only deepened. Peter, her Peter, had been mild-mannered, soft-spoken, quick to defer. She'd fallen in love with his sweetness. Until she'd met Belle, she'd thought he was one of a kind.

And now here he was swearing and ordering around grown men twice his size. Maybe this _was_ some kind of witchcraft…someone else, something else, wearing his skin…

"What's going on?" Belle asked. Now she sounded scared. Her hand found Red's and Red gave it a squeeze, shooting her a reassuring glance.

"Don't worry, babe, we'll figure it out."

She wondered if she was lying.

_Shit_. He was coming over here.

Red shook off the numbness of her shock and subtly stepped in front of the other girl, fighting the urge to show her teeth. If it really was him, the last thing she wanted to do was let slip how inhuman she'd become.

But then, as if to thwart her efforts, she could suddenly feel her wolf clawing at her insides, and getting more insistent by the second. Something about Peter was making it restless, something about the way he walked, the flash in his eye.

And that's when it hit her. His scent—

_He's a wolf. _

"He's a halfling," Belle said under her breath, correcting Red's unspoken conclusion. "It all makes sense now."

_How _did she know these things?

Peter stopped short then. It had just hit him, too.

"So it got you as well?" He seemed almost excited. Maybe he'd never met another either.

Red scowled at the question. "What do you mean, 'it'?"

"The werewolf, Red." He stepped forward urgently. "The beast that almost killed me the year before last. The beast that everyone said killed _you_."

Is that what he thought, why he'd never come looking for her? "Peter." Red swallowed. "_I _was the beast. I still am. It's something I was born with."

"You?" He took a moment to process. "And—you never told me?"

"I didn't know until that day. Pete." Red's throat began to ache. "I thought I killed you. All this time. "

His expression softened, and he chuckled, reaching up to touch her shoulder. "Come on, now. Did you really think it'd be that easy to get rid of me?"

Red flinched away, biting back a sudden rush of frustration at his nonchalance.

_No, Peter. _

_You don't understand. _

_You were a bloody pile of rags. _

_I was picking you out of my teeth._

He drew his hand back at her reaction, and seemed to notice Belle for the first time. The other girl had been respectfully quiet, but Red could hear the gears turning in her head, feel the nervous energy in her skin. Peter's eyes dropped to their interlocked hands.

"So that's how it is, then?" He smirked, but his voice was unreadable. The question caught Red off-guard. She glanced down at her hand as if it belonged to someone else.

"Um, yeah," she said finally. "That's how it is."

Belle tensed up next to her, and Red, suddenly feeling like something more was needed, leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. It was awkward, but Belle gave her a grateful look anyway.

If Peter was surprised, he didn't show it. He turned to address Belle directly. "Robin Hood, at your service," he said gallantly, taking her free hand and bowing to kiss it. "I hope you'll forgive my crass behavior. I've been too long away from the company of women." Belle smiled, flustered, and introduced herself in return. Red felt an absurd flash of jealousy at the whole exchange. She didn't even know who for.

_Fuck. _

"Well, Red," Peter continued, flicking his eyes back to her. "Perhaps, if the lovely lady wouldn't mind, you and I could catch up." He hesitated. "Privately."

Red glanced at Belle, trapped.

"Well—"

"Of course I don't mind," Belle lied, saving her. She caught Red's eye. "I'm going to head back inside, alright? I'll whip something up. Since we have company."

"Please don't trouble yourself," Peter insisted.

"No, it's my pleasure." Belle untangled their fingers and started away. Panic rose in Red's throat. She needed to make this better.

"Belle, wait," she said, and she pulled her back and drew her into a kiss, holding her there until her knees buckled. "I won't be long, okay?" Then she kissed her once more on the forehead, just for good measure.

Belle laughed, breathless. "Okay."

"Love you," Red added recklessly.

She nodded and floated away.

Red turned back to Peter, who'd been watching with a raised eyebrow.

"Something tells me the boys aren't going to mind staying here," he said.

"Something tells me the boys aren't going to be here long," Red replied. She grabbed him by the arm considerably more roughly and dragged him along. "Now let's go find a nice 'private' place where you can tell me what the hell is going on."

* * *

Red led Peter to the edge of the woods, still in sight of both the cottage and the bustling caravan but well out of earshot of either. There she stopped and leaned against a massive evergreen tree, folding her arms expectantly. Peter didn't offer any explanation, didn't move to make himself comfortable. He just seemed to allow himself, finally, to take her in.

Red shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. When at last he spoke, there was no more pretense of roguish chivalry. He just sounded like himself.

"I really thought you were gone, Red," he said quietly. "It's like you're back from the dead."

Red's resolve faltered. She relaxed her stance, stepping forward a little, and the next she knew she was wrapping him in a hug. He held her fiercely. _Gods_, it was surreal, as if she'd stepped back in time. He was different now, true, but so was she.

For a moment they just stood there in the embrace, so much longer than the one she'd allowed herself with Belle earlier. But this was okay, wasn't it? They had a right to this much at least. It wasn't even intimacy so much as relief that kept them together; Red felt like they were two brothers in arms who had just found each other after the war. Survivors of their mutual grief. There was a moment when she thought she was going to cry, but she swallowed it and laughed instead.

_I didn't do it. I didn't kill him. _

She'd just made him…well, whatever he was now.

Finally they let each other go. Red took an uneven breath and gave him a strong shove.

"Where the hell have you been, Pete?"

"Everywhere. Gods. We've been all over, Red."

"Doing what? Don't tell me you're really an outlaw now." He'd been such the angel before.

Pete rubbed the side of his face thoughtfully. There was scruff there; that was new. "Is it really criminal if the laws you're breaking are unjust?"

Red rolled her eyes. "Oh, so you're a _revolutionary_."

"Well, maybe that's too noble a title," he admitted. "Our goals are tend to be more…superficial. We've been stealing from rich men and giving to those in need. All over Nottingham. We keep safe in the forest."

Red frowned as she listened. That sounded dangerous. She'd already lost him once.

"Why?"

"It gives us purpose," he replied simply. "When I lost you, Red…when I thought I lost you…" he trailed off, looking away. "You and Granny were the only family I had. You know that. I couldn't go back to my old life. But it's not like I could start a new one, either, not the way I was, not with this curse driving me half to madness. So at first, I stole just to keep myself alive. But then, as I gained more control over my new circumstances…" he shrugged again. "I guess one thing just led to another. It felt very natural. It's not so different from hunting, honestly, Red. You sneak around the woods with your bow, and at the end of the day you take one life to feed another."

Red was taken aback by his indifference. "So you're a killer now, too?" she asked intently.

"I—"And then his face broke. "No, I never meant to be. It's just that—sometimes—you have to understand—"

"No. Pete." She cut him off and looked him squarely in the eye. "So am I."

He was quiet for a moment, confusion settling into acceptance. "How many?" he asked finally, his voice soft.

"Too many. More than you."

"Thirty-two," he dared, watching for her reaction.

Red sighed. By the time the huntsman had gotten to her, she'd been approaching triple digits. Even now the boy was still too good for her.

"No," he said when she didn't answer, his voice sharp with disbelief. He swore under his breath. "You can't be serious."

"I never wanted to either. But I can't control my wolf during the full moon, and it's good at what it does." She cut a glance at him. "Which is why I've been wondering all this time: how in gods' name did _you _survive?"

"What, you don't remember?"

"I never remember anything from my wolf's time."

Peter hesitated. "Well, I don't remember either—"

_No. Hell no. I need answers._

"—but," he continued, to her vast relief, "I can put a pretty clear picture together based on what others have told me."

_Better. _Red resumed her earlier position, leaning against the tree, arms crossed. And after taking a moment to gather himself, Peter launched into the story.

"The last thing I _do _remember is coming to your window that night." Red's heart tugged. He'd done this a few times before, spiriting her away in the night like something out of a story. Granny had known, of course—she didn't miss much—but she'd always trusted Peter with her, him being the person he was. It was Red who'd been the wild one, and now of course they all knew why.

"It was a clear night," Peter went on. "A full moon. I actually thought that was romantic. But when I looked in and called your name, you weren't in your bed and your room had been torn apart. I went around to the front to wake Granny, scared something had happened to you or her or both of you. Bandits, maybe. The irony does not escape me. But then I saw the front door had been destroyed, too—just lying on the ground in splinters, Red, like it'd been blown down by a strong wind. And that's when I really started to worry."

He leaned against the tree himself, settling into a more comfortable position. "I almost called out your names, but something told me not to. Instead I took my bow out and followed the paw prints leading away from the house. They were massive, bear-sized, so that's what I was preparing myself for, even though it didn't make any sense.

"It turned out to be a short trail. About as short as the walk we took just now. At the end of it, I saw Granny with her crossbow, facing down this…monster. A wolf the size of pony, teeth like knives." His voice was pained. "You have to believe me when I say I had no idea it was you, Red. I didn't even know the curse existed. I just saw this animal bearing down on Granny with murder in its eyes."

_Murder. _

Suddenly Red felt a worm of dread work its way through her chest.

No, she hadn't. She _couldn't_ have. There would've been evidence. There would've been blood. Better by far to think that Granny had abandoned her, or hated her, or left her for dead, than to even for a second entertain that possibility—

When Red spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. "Did I kill her?"

"Who?"

"_Granny_, Pete. Did I kill my grandmother? Did I…gods, polish her _off_, or something?"

A look of horror crossed his face. "No! What would make you think that?"

"I haven't seen her since that night."

"Well let me finish the story."

Red watched him, still distraught.

"I shot the wolf twice," he continued, regaining some of his composure. "Once in side of the head, and once in the chest. But all that did was make it mad." He paused. "You. Make you mad. You were pissed, Red. You left off Granny and came for me."

Red winced. "You know it wasn't really me, right?" she said. "I swear I don't remember a thing."

"Well, that's fine, because I don't remember much after that, either. You attacked me before I could get another arrow off, pinned me to the ground and gave me these." He paused then to lift his shirt. "Serves me right for trying to put your eye out, huh?"

And then Red felt her horror return. Peter's entire midsection was a scarred ruin, held together with proud black stitches. The longest and thickest ran from his top right ribs to his bottom left hip, while others shot off haphazardly like tributaries to a river. His skin was as mottled as the patched clothes he wore. Red was reminded of the monster from a story Granny had told her, the one made from the sewn-together parts of corpses.

That's what Peter looked like now—something from a nightmare, something half-dead. And despite his strong, even breath; his newly-carved muscle, Red's skin crawled at the sight.

"Took a sizeable bite out of my left leg, too," Peter went on, lowering his shirt. "Never went for my throat, though, even though I was begging it to." He grinned wryly. "Is your wolf always such a tease, or was I just its favorite?" His tone was light, but Red was shaken.

"Peter…" There was no apology big enough for this.

He smiled, as if to show he didn't need one. "Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful now. It dragged out just long enough for Granny to save me. She shot you in the front leg and you stumbled off, whining like a puppy. Why that should have bothered you when my arrows did nothing, I have no idea. Never found out, either. I passed out a second later."

Red frowned and glanced down at her left forearm. And sure enough—ah, and it was almost gone now—was a faint, round scar just below her inner elbow, not unlike the one she had on her own stomach after her fight with the huntsman. She remembered noticing it a few days after her first turn and chalking it up to an ordinary injury. But of course, she'd learned since that there was only one thing that could have left a mark.

So Granny had had silver-tipped bolts for her crossbow. She must have known more than she let on about wolves, and she must have been more worried about Red than she let on, too. As much as she'd tried to keep them separate from that world, given how Red's mother had turned out, she hadn't been so foolish as not to prepare for the worst. Red found herself thanking Granny silently and fervently for that. If not for her foresight, both she and Peter would truly have been dead.

"What are you looking at?" Peter asked, glancing over.

"The scar." She showed him her arm. "That's where Granny shot me."

He chuckled. "_That's _a scar? Weak."

"I'm lucky she didn't put me down," Red thought aloud. It was surreal, learning all these details.

"She could barely bring herself to hurt you, honestly," said Peter. "I think that's why it took her so long to act."

Red folded her arms self-consciously. She tried to hide the hope in her voice. "So where is she now?"

Peter's smile faded. "Well, that's where my memory fails me. I woke up several days later in a little village where Granny had dropped me off with an apothecary named Tuck. He explained that she had brought me to him on horseback but left without saying where she was going. All throughout my recovery I kept hoping she'd come back for me, give me word that you were okay. But all the rumors were that you'd been killed, and I finally assumed that she had fled in her grief, much as I ended up doing myself." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe she's taken on a new identity too somewhere. But I'm afraid that's all I know, Red."

Red turned this information over in her mind. It explained why Granny had left so suddenly, leaving no word of where she was going or why—hard to do that, with a boy bleeding out in your arms. But it did nothing to explain why she'd _stayed_ gone all this time.

Still…she hadn't simply taken their horse and abandoned her out of disgust. Red clung to this new scrap of insight, and to the hope that Granny was, in fact, still alive, and not months gone now to some accident. Red had no proof on that front, only a vague conviction. Granny was tougher than any of them.

Though of course, she realized, if Peter had survived all that, he was in a strong second place. Red had seen all the blood the next day. He shouldn't have lasted the night.

But seeing him now, alive, stronger even, she realized how happy she was that he had.

"Are you okay?" he asked, studying her.

She found her voice. "Yeah, actually, I think I am. Finish the story, Pete."

He smiled. "Tuck put me back together with the help of some of his potions, but even so, it was a near thing. I didn't get out of bed for a month. It would have been even longer, probably, but my new healing abilities kicked in when the next full moon rolled around. But of course you'll know all about that."

"I don't, actually," Red admitted, embarrassed. "I didn't even know the wolf could be given away like this until recently." _Yesterday, if we're keeping score._ "You're a halfling, right?" That's what Belle had said, and the longer Red talked to Peter, the more she was convinced the other girl was right. He had the sharpened senses, the lean strength, the predatory aura of a wolf, but he hadn't known the most basic details about the transformation, so clearly he didn't have a wolf's time of his own.

"A halfling?" Peter echoed, thinking. "I've never heard it called that before, but, yes, it's the perfect word for what I am now. My mind is…fractured. I enjoy a shade of the wolf's abilities and suffer a hint of appetites, but I can't actually change shapes like you."

"_Can't_? More like you don't _have _to." She shoved him again. "Lucky bastard. You got all the good stuff and none of the bad."

"No, you've got it all backwards," he insisted. "You have balance; I have excess. You have a gift; I have a curse."

Red gave him a flat stare. "Keep talking, thirty-two."

He sighed. "Okay, so admittedly the wolf's time is a sticking point. But hear me out: One body, one will, and you're fine. Two bodies, two wills, and you're better than fine; you're a force of nature. But one body, two wills? You're insane. I have this wolf inside me, Red, and it _can't get out. _And it's wreaked havoc on my humanity_._ So while you are, at any moment, _both _a wolf and a person,I can never be more than half of either. Which still forms a whole, I guess…but I can see why they call it a monster."

Red felt her expression slipping into one of regret. _She'd _done this to him.

"Make no mistake; I'm a much better hunter now than I ever was before," Peter went on, as if he'd heard her thoughts. "It's given me the strength to lead these men. I can walk through the forest unafraid. It's saved my life more times than I can count. I just—" he sighed, clearly exhausted by the conversation. "I just don't want you to ever think that what _you_ are is anything less than divine, because when I'm standing here, when I look at you, every instinct in the back of my mind is telling me to bow."

Startled, Red stood up a little straighter. "Pete, please. I'm still the same royal screw-up I was two years ago. In fact, I'm considerably worse."

He shook his head slowly. "You're different now. You're…burning brighter, or something. I don't think I've ever seen you so happy before, even when you were with me." He paused. "So is that the wolf's doing, Red? Or is it the girl's?"

Red froze, feeling caught, and only confirming his suspicions.

"I saw the way you looked at her, Red," he said, chuckling. "I used to look at you like that."

"I thought you were dead, Peter." Gods, she would say it a hundred times before this day was over.

"I was," he reassured her. "In a way, I still am. Peter, the boy I was—he didn't come back, Red. I'm just glad someone was able to take care of you when he couldn't."

Red's heart pulled at the kind words. Peter was rougher around the edges now, true, but he was still too generous by half. He'd deserved better than her.

_And so does Belle._

Red shoved the thought away uncomfortably.

Peter nudged her. "So how'd you meet?"

Red told him. The answer spiraled into a much longer story, one that hurt with the telling but felt better afterwards, a rotten tooth finally pulled free. She realized she hadn't been able to talk to anyone about all this except for Belle, and Belle, of course, was living it herself. Peter, on the other hand, could be objective. Red watched his face to gauge his reaction, but if he was upset by any of her confessions, he didn't show it.

"So she's really going to stay with you until the next full moon?" Peter asked when Red was done. "You're not going to try and find a way out of it?"

"No, I mean…we've talked about it. Gods know I've offered. But she thinks she can help me make it through my wolf's time without hurting anyone, including her. And she doesn't have anywhere else to go." Red hesitated. "But those aren't the reasons. She's staying because she wants to. And I want her here, too."

Peter sucked a breath in through his teeth. "I don't know, Red. It's not polite to play with your food."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Saved your ass, didn't it?"

"_Rude._"

Red ignored this. "I'm handling it, okay? I'm getting better. It'll be fine." She wondered if Peter could smell a lie.

"Well, in all honesty, she seems like a nice girl," Pete conceded. He scratched the back of his head, a nervous habit he'd clearly kept. "I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you I found one of those myself."

Red did mental double-take. "Wait, what?"

"Her name's Marian. She's a carpenter's daughter and a friend of Tuck's. She cared for me during that first month."

Red struggled for words. "Is she _here_?"

"No. Usually she would—she's quite a capable archer herself—but her father disappeared a couple months ago, so she's returned home to care for her mother. She's probably the only one of the merry men who has anything like a family." He paused. "Or who isn't in fact a man."

Red processed this information. Suddenly Peter's generous attitude towards Belle made more sense. Not that he wouldn't have been fair about it anyway, but this—this—

_I should be relieved, _Red thought. _I should be happy for him, like he is for me. _They'd both moved on. She didn't owe Peter anything now, didn't have to feel like she'd betrayed him.

So why did this still feel like a loss?

"Do you love her?" Red asked, watching him carefully for tells.

Peter was quiet for a long time, so long Red worried she'd upset him somehow, but when he finally spoke, his voice was steady.

"Yeah. I think I do."

He wasn't lying.

Red's throat felt tight. She was suddenly transported to the night before. Belle hadn't been lying either when said she loved her, when she'd taken this soft, dreaming thing they had and made it into something solid, something that could hurt. And Red hadn't been lying when she said the words back—of courseshe hadn't, of course she meant them—but there'd still been that infinite hesitation, that knee-jerk moment of panic, that part of her that hadn't wanted to do it. Because the last person—the _only _person—she'd said those words to before had been Peter, and look how that had turned out.

She'd had such a rush of freedom when she'd pushed that rankling fear aside at last and kissed Belle anyway, sealing the promise of her words. Of course Peter would come back _now_. Just when she'd thought herself finally free of his ghost_. _

He shifted uncertainly.

"Are you okay, Red?"

"This is all just very weird, Peter."

He nodded sympathetically. "We never had closure." He scratched the side of his face. "But maybe we can now. Maybe this is a good thing."

_Or maybe this is just going to fuck things up._

"Listen, I should go check on the others," Peter continued, starting off. "You want to come meet them? Or do you still have standards about things like hygiene?"

She could almost laugh. "In a bit, Peter. I promise. I'm just going to go see how Belle's doing first."

Peter smiled with the side of his mouth. Some things never changed. "Well, she can't be too unhappy, not the way you're looking out for her."

Red returned the smile uneasily, starting off in the opposite direction.

She hoped to gods he was right.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Whoo 50K! It's a novel! Definitely thought this was just going to be a quick little mini-fic. Thanks to everyone still reading. **

**Warnings that there is more swearing in this chapter (Like maybe we should all just quietly accept at this point that there's M-ish language in this story? Something else I didn't anticipate but alas here we are.) Also a potentially stressful scene involving a pushy drunk guy. Nothing too dark, but I'll give a heads-up just in case. (Said drunk guy is a total OC so don't be worrying he's secretly Jack Frost or Jack the Giant Slayer or anything like that.)**

**Okay I think that's all. Had a lot of fun with this one so I hope you do too. :)**

**EDIT: WHOOPS that's not all. Just found a kind of biggish inconsistency with the last chapter. Sorry about that friends, it's all better now. **

**Chapter 14**

**14 Days**

Belle stared into the firepit, watching the flames lick up around the smoking meat. She'd been sitting on this log so long her tailbone was aching and her eyes were dry from staring into the fire. She'd decided to prepare cuts from the deer Red had caught and dressed this morning, since, obviously, it wouldn't be going to the Sheriff anytime soon. It wasn't as easy as Red had made it out to be all that time ago, smoking meat. Belle had worried at first that their guests would be underwhelmed by her efforts. Then she'd reached the conclusion that she didn't much care.

The bandits in question were just out of sight beyond the tree line, though Belle could hear them well enough. They didn't sound like they were setting up camp, whatever that might have entailed. They sounded like they were having a party. Under any other circumstances, Belle would have scraped together the courage to ask if she could join them. They were already the stuff of legend, and she could have written herself, however modestly, into a brief chapter of that story.

But, as it was, she wasn't in much of a party mood.

Belle sighed and looked up from the fire. She could just make out the silhouettes of Peter and Red through the haze of smoke. It was impossible to know what they were saying. Her heart had lurched when she'd seen them hug—_gods_, it had gone on forever—but then nothing more came of it and she felt guilty for giving into jealousy. They had both thought each other dead for almost two years. If Belle couldn't allow them a happy reunion without making it about herself, then surely she was the unreasonable one here.

Still…it'd been over two hours now since they left. Anxiety began to scratch at her heart. She'd had a hard enough time escaping the shadow of Peter's ghost. And now, the man himself…come back a halfling, come back a hero, someone who could understand Red and actually provide for her—surely the other girl wasn't immune—

_Stop. Stop that. She said she loved _you_. Just last night._

Yes. Yes. And Belle had been so _tempted_ after that. It would have made sense. First _I love you, _first night together. She couldn't pretend she didn't want it. Red didn't even bother trying. But Belle had been afraid. They had a good thing going, she figured. She didn't want to disappoint. She didn't want to ask too much. She didn't want to risk the chance that that _I love you_ (Red had _hesitated, _hadn't she?) hadn't just been a kindness, because even though the other girl's kisses felt sincere she always seemed to be holding back.

It just hadn't felt right yet.

Belle regretted her restraint now. She should've followed the script. Then when Peter had showed up they could have had that. Red and Peter _already _had that. That, and years of friendship. And effortless familiarity. She could see it all in the way they moved around each other. It wasn't intimacy, exactly—_not yet, _a chipper voice added in the back of her mind—it was just…easy.

_We're easy with each other, too_, Belle told herself. _Peter noticed it right away. And Red said she loved me again this morning...it sort of sounded like an afterthought, but at least it was there. _

But, really, had all that been for Belle's benefit? Or Peter's? Why couldn't she shake the fear that Red had been trying to convince _herself?_

Belle picked up the poker she'd swiped from the fireplace and stoked the fire moodily. A little while later Red made her way back towards the cabin. Peter wasn't with her anymore. _Finally, _Belle thought. Her palms began to sweat.

Why the hell was she so nervous?

She tossed the poker away and stood up as Red approached. Found her smile. "How was it?"

Red furrowed her brows. "Weird. This is all very weird, Belle. Can I join you?"

_Please. _Belle resumed her position beside the fire, and Red sat down next to her. The other girl took a grateful breath of the sweet-smelling smoke, looping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Belle swallowed a pang of affection.

"This smells damn good, babe," Red sighed.

"If I've done something right I'm sure it was an accident." She refused to be distracted. "Why is it weird?"

Red glanced up from the fire. "It just is. It's weird he's alive. It's weird I didn't kill him. It's weird he's not human. It's weird he's in love with someone I've never even met." _Sorry, what?_ "It's weird that everything I thought happened that night didn't. It's weird I don't have to feel guilty anymore—I mean, of course I do, he was just one of way too many, but he was the first one, the worst one, the one that hurt the most. And it's weird because now, Belle, it's like I don't—I don't even know who I am anymore. Not without all that."

Belle tried to hide the initial relief that had washed over her. She reached out, her hand slightly steadier now, and gave the other girl's knee a squeeze.

"Red, all this does is prove what I've always known about you. You're not the monster you think you are. Please tell me you're at least a _little_ relieved."

"No, I am! Of course I am. I promise. I feel about fifty pounds lighter." Her expression fell a little. "Well, maybe thirty pounds. I'm not totally off the hook. I still messed him up pretty bad."

"He seemed fine to me," Belle said reassuringly. "He's just different. So are you to him, probably."

"No…it's not the same. The wolf was always a part of me. I just became more of myself. But with him, it's just kind of…grafted on…like his skin…you should see him, Belle. All scarred up…inside and out…" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sure a part of him still hates me. A part of me still hates me."

Belle shoved her. "_Please_. I swear you're addicted to guilt. Give yourself a break, love. I promise he doesn't hate you. And that weird feeling you can't shake—it's freedom."

Red's mouth tugged up in a half-smile. "You think so?"

"I know it. Where's Robin now?" Belle didn't feel right calling him Peter. She'd never known Peter, not really.

"He's helping the others sort everything out. They take what they need and give the rest to starving children and shit. He started out stealing to survive, and I guess he just got good at it and found some friends to help him."

Belle nodded. That was consistent with the stories she'd heard. "And how long can he stay?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral. It had occurred to her, as she suspected it had not yet occurred to any of the happy fools in the woods, that by this time tomorrow the Sheriff would have realized something was wrong and that he might send soldiers their way to investigate. She was torn between wanting the outlaws there for that eventuality and wanting them gone as soon as possible.

"I don't know," Red said slowly. "We didn't talk about that. Probably only another day or two. But Belle—you know it doesn't change anything, right? Having him back? It doesn't matter if it's an hour or a year. It changes nothing. I'm with you."

Belle felt her face warm. She swallowed. "You mean it, Red?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "Because if that's…part of what's making this weird…I'd rather know now. Be honest."

"No, Belle," she said, and she lifted Belle's face by the chin so she could look her in the eyes as she said it, her grip as light as the brush of snow. "It's you."

And Belle couldn't pick out a lie like the other girl could, but still. She believed her. Red leaned in and kissed her on the nose, and Belle wrinkled her face up in a grin. It was only the same old fear holding Red back, wasn't it? She was still working on her self-control. If anything, that just meant she cared more.

Surely.

"And you're sure you wouldn't like me better if I were like him? A halfling?" Belle asked tentatively. "Because I could see how—how maybe that'd be better."

Now Red was tracing a light line of kisses along her jawline, then her throat. "No," she said, without pause. "Never. I like you just like this. Soft and gentle and good."

"See, but do you mean good like an angel? Or good like a steak?" Belle asked pointedly, but she could feel herself starting to come undone at the seams. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Someone's going to see."

"Good." She drew her closer.

Belle gave in, letting Red make her promises the only way she seemed to know how. Maybe it was a wolf thing. Her first language was physical. But Belle was a creature of poetry, and she wanted to hear the words.

The _word_, really. _Love. _She almost said it again. But no, it wouldn't do to be needy.

_Say it, _she begged silently. Why did it matter so much?_ Just once. Say while there's no one watching, so I know it's true._

Instead, Red finished with a kiss to the forehead. She pulled away and let out a long breath, sated.

"Listen, I told Pete I'd go meet all his new friends," Red said, reaching towards the fire a snagging a piece of venison. "You want to come?"

Belle forced herself to come down from the kiss-drunk orbit she'd been spinning in.

_You're going back to him? So soon? _Belle had hoped their parties would stay separate until supper. The idea of maintaining small talk with strangers until then sounded like a little piece of hell. Belle missed many things from living in the city, but forced social interaction wasn't one of them.

She searched for a diplomatic way to refuse. "Well, someone has to watch the food…" she began.

"Nah, I told you, there's really no way to get it wrong."

"That's just because you'll eat it no matter how it turns out," Belle pointed out. The piece Red had now was still practically bleeding, for gods' sakes. "Our guests might have higher standards."

"Our 'guests' are a bunch of unwashed vagrants."

"Sexy vocab choice." Belle bit her lip. "Still."

Red turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Okay, now you're being weird. Are you just embarrassed? Because I promise Peter's cool with it. I might have mentioned this, but he's actually seeing someone else now, too." She paused. "Not that it would make any difference to me."

"Oh?" Belle pretended like she hadn't already mined this detail like the precious thing it was. "Who?"

Red shrugged. "Some girl named Marian. No one I know."

Belle was sure she didn't know any Marian's either, and yet for some reason the name felt familiar.

"Me neither," Belle conceded. "But that's not the problem. I'm just…out of practice." That was true enough. "You're the only person I've talked to for two weeks now."

"Yeah, aren't you going crazy yet?"

"I was going crazy _before_. I could never get away. I hope you'll forgive me if I don't jump right back in at full speed."

Red narrowed her eyes. "Okay…just so long as you know you're invited. I've got to be honest, I kind of wanted to show you off."

Belle snorted. As if she had any skills that were going to impress this crowd. She could barely shoot straight.

"I'll come get you all when supper's ready, alright? I promise by then I'll have gathered up my courage."

"You'll be okay out here?"

"I have the encyclopedia. I'm only on the F's."

Red's face relaxed. "Okay." Neither of them were entirely happy with the arrangement, which of course meant it was a good one. "I'll see you later, then."

"Love you." _Damn it. _

Red smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and left.

* * *

The sun set early these days. It was just starting to dip out of sight when Belle could no longer pretend dinner wasn't ready. By now there was more than enough food for everyone; she'd even chopped up some vegetables and baked a loaf of bread. The cooking kept her from getting bored, and it had been as good an excuse as any to stay away from the madness.

Now, though, she was preparing herself to join it—even though, if anything, it sounded like it was getting madder. They'd started singing again. Admittedly, there was a part of her that was couldn't help being a little excited. They certainly lived up to the legend. If nothing else she'd get a good story out of all this.

Belle sighed, wrapped her arms around herself against the chill and wandered into the woods.

The bandits had started a small fire of their own. They stood in a ragged ring around it, the flickering light throwing uncanny shadows across their faces. The song had devolved into scattered cheering. Something was going on in the middle of the circle.

Belle scanned the crowd, searching for Red or Peter. When she didn't find either she sidled up to the only other person she'd sort of met, the decidedly not-little Little John. She reached up and tapped the big man on his shoulder.

"Belle!" he said, grinning as if they'd known each other for years. He shook her hand so enthusiastically her whole arm got involved. "Red said you might be joining us."

"Yeah," she said, unable to help laughing. "Where is she?"

Little John's face was just a flash of square teeth smiling in the dark. "She and Robin are putting on a little demonstration. Come see for yourself."

He nudged aside, leaving room for Belle to join the rowdy circle. A _demonstration? _What did that even mean? Belle scowled and turned to face the middle.

A fight. That's what it meant. They were dueling.

Red, unarmed, stood on one side of the fire, pacing back and forth with a cocky half-grin. She had shoved her sleeves up past her elbows and wrapped her knuckles with cloth. Across from her, Peter stood doubled over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Despite the cold he wore no shirt at all—_gods, _Red hadn't been exaggerating about his scars—and his variegated skin shone with sweat. He had a sword.

_This…is a good look for her, _was Belle's immediate thought.

Then she came to her senses.

"What the hell is going on here?" she hissed.

"Don't worry, love, it's a dull blade," Little John replied. "We had to give it to him. He was getting whipped."

Belle's heart raced. A dull blade could still break bones just fine. Peter stood upright, bouncing with renewed energy and flourishing the sword.

"This is a bad idea."

John tsked. "This is _science_. We weren't sure, see, who'd be the better fighter. Most of us thought Peter, since he's bigger and more experienced, but my money was always on the girl, since her magic is stronger."

Belle looked around the circle with increasing horror. "There's _money_ on this?"

"Of course. It's a dogfight, isn't it?"

Oh, gods. She'd left them alone for a few hours and these were the results.

Peter lunged then, soundlessly, cutting down with the blade. Red caught it on her wrist, striking him hard in the chest with her back fist and twisting his sword arm around. He grunted, rolling out of the lock and shoving her away. A moment later he landed a sideways slash to her ribs. Red winced, backpedaling. They moved with liquid speed, leaping unbelievably high and shrugging off blows that would have broken a human fighter. Red had that look on her face she usually only got when she was hunting or running. Peter's impudent smile never faltered. Belle watched it all with her heart in her throat. It was graceful. It was brutal.

It was terrifying.

"When does it end?" she asked Little John in a low voice.

"When one of them gives up."

Belle knew Red would rather get run into the ground than surrender. She seemed to have the upper hand, but Peter was relentless. Belle could see how he'd earned such a fearsome reputation so quickly, how someone as young as him had gained such a large following of more experienced men. His scars didn't tarnish his reputation; they established it. Belle could only imagine how the girls back home would react to this.

"We should just make them stop," Belle muttered.

"Why?" Little John clapped her on the back genially. "You worry too much."

_Well, maybe so, _Belle admitted. She was a rainy-day-and-books kind of girl, not the fist-fighting-by-the-fire kind. This was about thirty miles outside her comfort zone. But it was clearly well within Red's. Judging from the grin on her face, Belle supposed the other girl knew what she was doing.

Then, as if to prove her wrong, Peter suddenly swept a low cut at Red's heels, using his free hand to shove her to the ground, hard. He followed her, pinning his knees around her midsection and pressing her wrists into the dirt. There was a roar from the crowd.

Suddenly Belle was terrified for entirely different reasons.

"Ah, damn," John muttered. "Well, never bet against your captain, right?"

_Make it stop._

"I'll give you half a minute to get out of it," Peter offered. "Otherwise we'll be here all night."

Red's eyes traced the length of his thick forearms, looking, Belle hoped at least, for weak points. A moment later she must've found something, because her grin returned. A faint look of doubt crossed Peter's face—

Red rolled them then, so quickly and so fluidly Belle almost missed it. The other girl had managed to twist one hand free, and now she was the one crouched victoriously with Peter pinned to the ground.

_Make it stop. _

The crowd got quiet then, except for Little John and a few others. He jostled Belle by the shoulders excitedly.

"_All _these bastards owe me drinks."

Belle half-wanted a drink herself. She held her breath as the crowd began counting. Peter strained to free himself. A shadow crossed Red's face. Her grin slipped into a snarl.

_She's losing control, _Belle thought, her breaths suddenly shallow. It was only when Little John looked at her in confusion that she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"What?"

"She's losing control," Belle said mechanically. "It's not a life-or-death situation, but their blood's up, so maybe—" No, there wasn't time to explain. "Red!" Damn her soft-spoken voice, lost in the noise. She could see the other girl's muscle's tensing. Peter would probably just get a rebuke, but the rest of them...it would be a bloodbath…

"_Red!_"

And this time she cut through the chaos, shattering Red's lethal concentration. Red looked up in confusion, found Belle's face in the crowd. She let go of Peter immediately, falling back onto her knees.

"Belle?" She sounded young.

Peter sat up, face flushed. There were murmured curses of disappointment from around the circle.

"Sorry, it's just—time to eat," Belle said, suddenly self-conscious in the quiet she'd caused.

"Oh. Right." Red gathered herself. Peter stood and helped her to her feet. "Thanks, B. I was actually just getting hungry."

Belle let out a long mental sigh.

_No kidding._

* * *

The bench they sat on had been built for six, but Little John counted for two. He sat on the far right side, next to Peter, who sat next to Red, who sat next to Belle, who huddled on the edge of the seat and the conversation and wished she had a blanket. The fire had been stoked to blazing, but something about the night still left her feeling cold.

The other three were several drinks in now, having scarfed down their entire supper in the time it had taken Belle to cut her meat. She had opted out of their repeated offers to join them. She didn't really care for the taste of rum, and as, quite possibly, the _only_ sober person left, she felt a certain amount of responsibility to stay that way. True, Red had claimed that she'd never been able to get more than tipsy since she started turning, but the alcohol—or maybe just the company, Belle wondered—seemed to be making her rowdier anyway.

"_Robin Hood_," she was saying. She snickered, like it was the punchline to a joke. "Where the hell did you get that name, by the way? You never did tell me."

"Well—" Peter began—he was more noticeably drunk— "It's funny you should ask—"

"No, no, let me tell it," John insisted. He was soused. "It's pathetic. He woke up from his coma to the sound of birds chirping, so when Tuck started asking him all these questions about who he was, that was the only alias he could think of. _Robin. _Fucking songbird."

"It was _fitting_," Peter insisted. "I'm a good singer." He turned to Red. "Aren't I good singer?"

"He's a good singer."

"Better than any of you sorry bastards, and you never shut up."

"It would have been more fitting if you woke up to the braying of a jackass," Little John argued.

Peter turned to the girls conspiratorially. "I have to let him say these things, out of pity, because it pains him to know how thoroughly I can kick his ass."

Red raised an eyebrow. "So is that how you're going to talk to me now that we know I can kick _your_ ass?"

"Oh, come on, I was just playing the gentleman—"

"Bull_shit_—"

"We even gave you a fucking sword, mate—"

"It wouldn't have felt right to win."

"You tell yourself that."

"Where do you get 'Hood' from?" Belle broke in then with as much chattiness as she could muster. She was clearly the only one unsatisfied with this unresolved tension.

They all three turned to her.

"Sorry, what, love?" Peter asked, blinking.

"You got _Robin_ from the birds. What about _Hood_? I'm just curious."

A beat passed. "Because he always wears this same damn shirt," John said, pulling the hood down over Peter's face. "Has to hide his ugly mug from the women and children."

"It's practical. And it's _dashing_," Peter insisted. He appealed to the girls again. "Isn't it dashing?"

Red made a face. "I don't think you can pull off the hood thing, Pete. Rob. Whoever the hell you are."

"_Rude,_" Peter scolded."I think you'd look good in a hood."

"Shut your lying mouth."

Belle sighed and returned to her dinner. There would be no keeping up with these three. There was something in them—and she had no word for it—that just wasn't in her, something that made them hit and swear and drink and fight, something that ran perpendicular to her quiet, gentle energy. Belle gave herself credit. She knew she was strong. But she wasn't rough; she wasn't wild; she'd never hunted or killed. And looking around the circle of strange and familiar faces, she realized she was the only one.

Maybe she should just turn in for the night.

"So tell me, Red," Little John was saying now. "What _exactly _did this little shithead do so wrong that you gave up on men completely?"

Red chuckled. "It's not like that. I've always liked both."

"Is that a wolf thing?" He glanced at Peter. "Should I worry?"

"No, asshole," she said good-naturedly. "It's a me thing."

"Well, that's a relief. What about you, love?"

It wasn't until they fell into an expectant silence that Belle realized John was talking to her. She glanced up from the peas she'd been spearing on the end of her fork. They were all looking at her.

"Sorry, what?" Her tongue felt heavy.

Red gave her knee an affectionate squeeze. "Have you always preferred girls?"

"Oh..." Belle wasn't even sure how to answer that. She'd never cared much for the men in her town, but she'd never really looked at the women either. In fact, she'd never felt anything real until now.

"I…prefer Red," Belle answered finally. It was the only honest answer she could think of.

Red smiled at that and leaned in to kiss her. But it was sloppy when usually it would have been careful, greedy when usually it would have been grateful. She tasted like whatever piss-poor swill they were drinking. When her hand wandered further up her leg, Belle gently pushed her away.

"Fuck me," Little John muttered, taking another drink. Peter shoved the glass forward so it spilled out over the other man's beard.

Belle licked her lips. "I think I'm going to go inside," she said quietly.

"You sure?" Red asked.

Belle nodded. "You want me to wait up for you?"

Red glanced at the other two, who were now slapping at each other like preteen girls. "Nah, I wouldn't want to keep you up. Come back out if you change your mind, though, okay?"

Belle promised she would, knowing she wouldn't. She remembered Red saying she wanted to show her off and couldn't help but feel like she'd failed miserably. She wished more than anything that the other girl would come back with her.

"And Belle. Hey." Red grabbed her by the arm before she could leave. "When you were wondering before, which kind of good." She sounded young again. "Good like an angel, okay?"

"Okay, Red."

"During the fight. You saved me. You always do. You're my guardian angel." She kissed her fingers. "And you're beautiful."

Belle felt a rush of warmth. Maybe she _could_ ask Red to leave. That wasn't asking too much, was it? She'd already had this whole endless day out here, and probably she'd have tomorrow too. So maybe she'd say yes. Maybe they could even—

But just as Belle opened her mouth to reply, the wrestling spilled over to Red's side of the bench and Red turned to shove the other two hunters away, letting out a sharp laugh.

Belle swallowed her words and left.

* * *

She had meant to go to bed, but like so many other nights made restless by anxiety, Belle found herself reading instead.

She was over halfway through the encyclopedia by now. She'd been reading it on and off all day, and in the past couple hours in particular, she'd given it her full attention. She was deep in the _P's_. Every so often she'd cave in to her curiosity and look up through the kitchen window to where Red still sat with Peter and Little John. Some other reveler had taken immediately Belle's place. They were loud, and showed no sign of quieting, although by now it was well past midnight.

This morning Belle had felt guilty for wanting Red to herself. Now, that guilt had gradually inverted into a quiet kind of resentment she couldn't quite quell. She felt like an old favorite toy that had been forgotten. Or perhaps, if she was being fair—a new toy that had been abandoned for its far better predecessor. It wasn't Red's fault that Belle didn't fit in with this crowd, but she couldn't help but wish the other girl had thrown her a line.

_Quit being vain. It's just one night. _One _night. _

_One night…that's still. Going._

Belle forced herself to return to the page. _Pegasus. _Think about that. She searched for the last sentence she'd read. She made it through the rest of the entry without peeking.

Then—a tapping at the window.

Belle's eyes snapped up, thinking it was Red. It wasn't Red. It wasn't anyone she knew. It was some nameless bandit who'd wandered away from the group, his face flushed, his eyes vacantly drunk. His grin split his face like an open wound. Belle felt a startled shiver run through her core.

Her hostess instincts kicked a second later. "Do you need something?" she asked through the glass. Her gaze darted to the door. She hadn't bolted it shut.

"What?" came his muffled reply.

She tried to speak up. "I said, do you need something?Can I help you?"

He grinned again, pointing at his ear apologetically, and started for the door.

Belle waited a heartbeat, decorum warring with the buzzing at the base of her neck. Instinct won. She leapt up to lock the door—

Too late. It swung open. She took a healthy step back. Suddenly she remembered the huntsman, and how Red had been trapped.

"Hey," the bandit said thickly. "I just stepped away for a piss and I saw the light on." _Charming._ "Why aren't you with everyone else?"

His eyes wandered, catching on her curves.

"I…just came inside to grab a blanket," Belle said, improvising. "And actually, I'm heading back out. Right now. We can go together if you want." She started for the door.

He caught her arm. "Whoa! Take it easy. No need to rush. There's more than one way to keep warm."

"I'm not interested," she said shortly. She'd learned long ago not to waste time being coy. Belle tried to shrug his grip off, her heart fluttering when he didn't let go. In fact, it only grew tighter, bruising.

"You sure?" he asked. "What's your name?"

She pried his fingers loose and moved to slip past him, but he shut the door before she could. Belle backed up. Her head swam. She held in the growing urge to run for a window, afraid of provoking him. You had to be calm and confident around big dogs.

"My name's Jack," he continued when she didn't answer.

"You need to leave, Jack."

"Can't I just know your name first?"

"I won't ask again."

"I will."

Jack stepped forward. Belle stepped backwards. He stepped forward again. She backed up again. It continued until she felt the press of the wall against her shoulder blades. Jack braced one hand against it, fencing her in. She drew a sharp breath. Her chest was tight.

_Red! _her mind screamed. But her throat refused to work properly.

Jack's eyes found hers for the first time. Something in them cleared up. "Damn," he muttered then. "You're beautiful."

And it was strange, wasn't it, how a word like that could give her life when it came from the right person's mouth but sounded like a death sentence coming from his.

He brushed the hair away from her face with cold, clumsy fingers.

_Red! _

Belle placed a gentle palm against the man's shoulder, holding him back. He smiled, taking it as encouragement. She tried pushing with more force. Would she really have to _hit_ him? Where? How hard? What if that only made him mad?

He wet his lips. "So what's your name?"

For the love of _gods_, _why couldn't she speak—_

Then he leaned in with a curl of sour breath, cupping her cheek, and Belle finally broke free of her paralyzing fear. She wasn't loud, but she knew she wouldn't have to be. Red could hear a rainstorm from an hour away.

"RED!"

The bandit paused, hovering, confusion trickling across his face. "Red? I thought that was the other girl—"

And then she was there.

She swung the door open so forcefully it almost rebounded off the wall. Jack turned to face her, taking his flushed heat with him. Belle could have dissolved with relief.

"Belle?" Red called out. "Are you okay? You sounded scared."

She scanned the room anxiously until she found them in the corner. Then she froze.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked Jack. He gave her his name.

_Help me, _Belle mouthed.

And that's when it clicked.

Red slipped from fear to the darkest anger then, so swiftly Belle could almost feel the temperature in the room drop. Everything about her seemed to sharpen. Her eyes flashed yellow. Her voice grew soft.

"Are you bothering her?" she asked Jack. "Did you _hurt_ her?"

Jack was too far gone to notice the shift in the air. "Didn't mean anything by it. She just looked a little lonely." His loose smile returned. "Want to join us?"

In the time it took Belle to draw her next breath Red had covered the distance between them with soundless strides and slammed Jack to the wall, her forearm pressed against his throat. The sudden reversal finally seemed to wake his fear. He struggled without success.

"I'm not going to make a mess here, because that would just upset her more," Red said quietly. Gods…her _teeth_. "But I am going to make damn sure you never touch her or anyone else again."

"What the hell!" Jack choked out. "What the hell _are_ you?"

"So which hand was it?"

"It was just a fucking kiss!"

"The right?"

"I don't know!"

"I'm just gonna be thorough." Then, with the same slim fingers that could trace feather-light lines down Belle's back in the dark, she reached down and snapped his wrists.

Belle swore, jumping back, panic shooting through her veins. She'd never broken a bone before, never heard that particular drumroll of dull pops. Jack screamed and immediately fell to his knees. Red yanked him back up to his feet.

"Not here," she growled. "No mess, remember?"

He looked at her with red-faced with rage. "I swear I'll make you pay for this."

Red curled her lip. She was starting to tremble. "Jack, if you ever come back here—if you don't leave right _now—_so help me gods, I will eat you." She shoved him towards the door. "Get out of my house."

And, sweating, cursing, clutching his hands to his chest in agony, he finally listened. Red threw the door closed behind him and locked it.

Then she turned to Belle, and just that fast her shoulders relaxed and her fangs shrank back and the cold, hard light went out of her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked gently.

At first Belle almost laughed—how the hell were this cuddly puppy and the killer wolf from ten seconds ago the same person?—but then her mind caught up to her fevered body at last, and her thoughts came in like a hailstorm.

_Gods, that was way too much _

_Gods, that wasn't enough _

_I should have stopped you_

_You should've kept going _

_This is my fault _

_It's your fault _

_It's his fault_

_He didn't listen_

_He didn't listen_

_He didn't—listen—_

And suddenly she was overwhelmed by the memory of his cold, crushing fingers and damp breath and she felt for a moment like she might be sick.

"No," she said, and the laugh escaped, though she could feel the tears already. "I'm feeling a little less than okay, to be honest."

"Belle." Red's face broke. "Belle, come here." She pulled her into a hug, wrapping her up in strong arms and the lingering smell of woodsmoke. She showered the crown of her head with kisses.

Belle swallowed the lump in her throat. "You weren't here." She hadn't meant to say it, but it'd slipped out anyway.

Red held her tighter. "I'm here now."

"But will you stay?" Gods, she sounded like a child who was still afraid of the dark.

"Of course." She let her go carefully. "Let me just go explain to Pete—"

"Red. _Please_." Belle let out a shuddery breath, wiping her eyes. "Stay."

Red hesitated, glancing outside, then nodded. "Okay, Belle. Come here." She hugged her again.

"I think I need to go to bed," Belle muttered.

"I think that'd be good. I'll come with you. I don't think I could sleep right now, but I'm tired as hell. You know how that is?"

_Exactly. _

Belle didn't think she had ever been so relieved to crawl into bed as she was tonight. The sheets were cool against her fevered skin, and they smelled like home. A sudden wave of exhaustion slammed into her the second her head hit the pillow. Her churning thoughts and feelings fell away. She knew they'd be waiting for her in the morning, fear and anger, confusion and relief, but now—gods—how nice it was to be warm and quiet.

Next to her, Red sat up in the bed, one arm hooked loosely around a propped knee. She looked out the window. Or maybe…she watched. She was so taut with energy Belle could feel it like an electric charge.

_You saved me, _Belle thought. _You always do. _

"Belle?" Red asked after a moment—ten minutes or an hour, Belle couldn't tell. "You awake?"

She was, barely, but she was too far gone to speak. Red sighed. "Love you," she said quietly.

Belle finally fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Continued thanks for the kind words, friends. Glad people are rolling with this twist. Trust me just a little bit longer, yeah? I promise I love these guys. **

**Chapter 15**

**13 Days**

Red sat very still in the bed. If she moved too much, she would explode.

The wolf raged just underneath her skin, as it had been ever since she had walked in and seen Belle being cornered like a rabbit by that lowlife. It had taken every ounce of her control not to turn right then and there. Jack was an asshole, but he didn't deserve to die. She knew that. And even if he did, that wasn't for her to decide. She was the executioner, not the judge. Not a murderer. Not a god. She _knew _that.

But still, even now there was a part of her that wanted to run the bandit down and finish the job, in a way she had never wanted to with the patrons. Those were far worse criminals, according to the Sheriff, but by the time Red got to them they were just trapped animals, defenseless and afraid. But Jack, he was different…he'd come here by choice…he'd been armed and dangerous…he'd wanted to fight back…he would've hurt Belle…

Red sucked a short breath in through her teeth. Her fingers flexed and curled into fists. _Careful. _She couldn't tell if it was her anger that was making the wolf more feral, or if the wolf, frustrated at her restraint all day, was making her even angrier. Probably it was a little of both.

And probably it had something to do with the moon getting fuller.

Even if it weren't for the thin, silver light pouring in through the window, Red would have known the moon was waxing. The middle of the month was low tide, but now she could feel the curse starting to rush forward. It made her heart beat harder, made her teeth itch, her skin crawl. What she really needed was a long, hard run to burn this all off, but of course she couldn't leave. And so she was trapped with her pent-up friction. First the fight with Peter, then the fight with Jack, and now her head swimming with white-hot anger and seething dark magic and the lingering scent of Belle's fear and dear gods_, _what if she hadn't heard her cry out? What if she had come too late?

Red cast a frantic glance at the other girl next to her, as if just thinking about the worst case scenario could have made it come true. But Belle had finally fallen asleep, and the worry lines that had been carved into her face had melted away at last. In this muted light she looked more innocent than ever, and delicate as sugar lace. Red's heart suddenly felt too big for her ribcage. Even Peter had never been this gentle. This good, yes, but there was a hardness to him, too, the kind you had to have to be a hunter. And now, his curse and his new life had worn even more of that softness away. But Belle…Belle had every reason to be resentful, every reason to lash out, and still she was as patient and forgiving as ever. Even with people like Jack, Red had no doubt. _Even with people like me._ _That_, more than anything, was what had held her back tonight—the desire to be even half as good as the other girl seemed to think she could be.

Red raised a tense hand and carefully, carefully brushed the hair back from Belle's face. Belle made a little noise in her sleep and curled up around her pillow, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Red smiled herself and went on to loop the stray locks behind Belle's ear, taking all her own fearful concentration and refocusing it on the task at hand. Her anger faded, recolored by affection. The wolf simmered down. Red felt herself begin to relax at last. The fact that she had this much control, considering the circumstances, was nothing short of a miracle. _Gods_, what a difference the last two weeks had made. Maybe it really was going to be okay.

A moment later she heard a rapping on the window. She tensed back up immediately, thinking it was Jack, but when she looked up she saw it was only Peter. For a moment she was thrown back into her past life, when he would sneak up to her bedroom after Granny had gone to sleep. But his eyes flashed inhumanly when he glanced back over his shoulder, and Red was pulled sharply back into this new reality.

She took a deep breath and walked over to open the window, taking each step as if on a bed of nails. The wolf still wanted out.

"Hey, Pete," she said quietly, pulling the window open. The noise of the party wafted in, though it was now so late it was early.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "_Hey, Pete? _That's all you have for me?"

Red scowled at his tone. "I'm sorry. Salutations? Good morrow? What else am I supposed to say? It's three in the morning."

"Maybe you could tell me why there's a man outside with two broken wrists who says you threatened to kill him."

Red curled her lip. "Did _he_ tell you _why_?"

"Does it matter? Gods, Red, you told me you had yourself under _control_. We've spent the last hour trying to set the bones, but they're all crushed to hell. Last time I checked that's not how you treat your guests."

"If Jack wanted to be treated like a guest he should've acted like one, rather than forcing himself on Belle until she literally had to scream for help. Why do you think I left in such a hurry? Why do you think I never came _back_? She was too scared to be left alone, and honestly, I don't blame her. He threatened us both."

Pete's expression ran through a rainbow of emotions: confusion, disbelief, anger, concern, and finally, guilt.

"That's what happened?"

"That's what happened."

"You're sure?"

"Pete, she has the bruises to prove it. It's just lucky I stopped him before it got too far." Red paused. "And I _was _under control, just for the record. What happened to Jack—that was me. Because if the wolf had had its way, he wouldn't have even walked out of here."

Red watched him closely, waiting for his judgment, but it never came. Instead he looked down and swore under his breath.

"I feel awful."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but I'm still responsible, Red. They're my men. I brought him here."

"Where'd he even come from?"

"I mean, he _was _a criminal. Most of them are. People with honest work don't leave it for what we do. But not all criminals are bad people; you know that. Sometimes it's the law that's crooked. So I thought we could use him. He was good with his hands." He heaved a sigh. "Although probably not anymore."

Red flinched, pierced by the thinnest needle of doubt. "Are you saying I went too far?"

Peter shook his head slowly. "Maybe, but…he was going to hurt her. He already had. If it'd been Marian, I might've even done worse. We have to protect the ones we love, no matter what it costs us, because life without them is no life at all. If I've learned nothing else from my ordeal, it's that." He shrugged. "And besides, it's not as if I'm a stickler for the legal justice system anyway. I should thank you for saving me the trouble of punishing him myself."

Red felt a wave of overwhelming gratitude wash over her. It was exactly what she needed to hear.

Peter jutted his chin in Belle's direction. "How is she now?"

"Sleeping, finally." Red followed his gaze, just to make sure. Belle's eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted. "She'll be okay. She's stronger than she looks. Stronger than me, that's for damn sure."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm only tough on the outside, Pete. On the inside I've gotten to be…kind of fragile. I don't always like myself. I don't always know what to believe. But Belle has this kind of…quiet conviction. It's solid. It's like—gods, I don't know how to explain it—like she's steady, the way you are with a bow. She plants her feet. Sometimes I'm so tempted to give up, but then she has enough faith for the both of us."

Red realized Peter was looking at her now. She shifted self-consciously. "You should see the way your face lights up talking about her," he said.

She felt herself blush. "It does?"

"Like the sun, Red. Is this true love?"

Red let out a low laugh. "Maybe if I believed in true love. I mean, I used to think _we _were true love, and then we almost killed each other. Luckily Belle doesn't believe in all that, either. She's practical. We have to be."

"Ah, no, that's cynicsm," Pete chided. "Don't give in. Fate works in funny ways. If we hadn't almost killed each other, you two may never have met, and look how much that's done for you. And I never would have found Marian, or become Robin Hood, or gotten all these new abilities…I'm willing to bet your trying to rip my throat out was the best thing that could have happened to either of us."

Red shoved him. "You're still drunk."

"No, just an eternal optimist." He let out another sigh. "I _am_ exhausted though. This day. I swear. It feels like I've lived a whole week in less than twenty-four hours."

"Gods, I know," Red muttered. The extremes of emotion she'd felt in such a short span had probably taken a year off her life.

"We'll get out of your hair come sunrise," Peter went on. "There are families waiting for this food."

Red raised an eyebrow. "I'm all for families, but I hope you're not going to take everything. We do need _some _of that food."

He held his hands up. "No, of course not. You'll keep whatever the Sheriff promised you, and I'll just take his share for the good people of his county."

"I like that. Everyone who matters wins." She caught his eye. "And you're not in my hair, Peter."

"Well, one of my brothers did break into your house and threaten your true love."

"No, _stop _with the true love thing. I swear you're going to jinx us. And with the Jack thing, too. He doesn't get to ruin this. I liked seeing you today. I like seeing that you're happy."

He grinned. "They call us the merry men for a reason." Then he grew quiet for a moment. "It was good to see you, too."

"It's strange, talking through the window like this again, isn't it?"

He laughed self-consciously. "I used to be so scared Granny was going to shoot me."

"Nah, she knew. You _know _she knew."

"I'm sure she did…but it was far more romantic to pretend otherwise. Back when I had time to be romantic and you could still afford to believe in such things." He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. "We had a good run, Red."

She furrowed her brows. They had, hadn't they? It wasn't like what she had with Belle, hadn't ever, in a year, gone as deep as this thing had in just two weeks. But their relationship _had_ grown out of a pretty damn good friendship, and Red realized, with an internal sigh of relief, that that much was strong enough to survive all this.

"You should go to be, Pete," she said quietly. "You look like you're about to drop."

He blinked heavy eyelids. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine. I'm in good hands."

He nodded, whether from agreement or fatigue, she couldn't tell. "Good. Then I'll rest easy."

She smiled. "Sleep enough for the both of us, okay?"

And then, with the gentle gravity of habit, they leaned across the sill and kissed. It was dry, asking nothing, giving nothing, but it lingered. Red poured everything she had left in her into it—relief that he was alive, remorse for what she'd put him through, gratitude for what he'd been to her and for the kindness he showed her now. It was a soft decrescendo to end a song that had, for far too long, played on unfinished. After a moment Red pulled away and let her head rest against the window frame.

"See you in the morning?" she said.

"You mean in three hours," he chuckled. He swept his hood up and turned to walk away. "Goodnight, Red."

_Bye, Pete, _she thought.

She watched him go until he was just a silhouette against the low-burning firelight. Then, letting out a long breath, shut closed the window and made her way back to bed.

And stopped short.

Belle was awake, and sitting up, and clutching her pillow close to her chest. Her heart fluttered like a baby bird.

"Red?" she asked in a small, cracked voice.

Red's heart plummeted. _No._

* * *

"Belle, it's not what it looks like—"

"I knew this would happen."

"No, babe, nothing's happening. Please don't cry. Belle—"

"Don't touch me."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Gods, what kind of thing is that to ask? Long enough."

"No, it's just, if you heard how we were talking about you earlier you would understand—"

"I _couldn't_ hear you. Wasn't that the point? Wasn't that why you were whispering?"

"No! It's not like that! We just didn't want to wake you up."

"All day, Red, I kept thinking I wasn't good enough and waiting for you to tell me I was. I kept waiting for you to _see _me. You're the only one who ever does."

"Oh, gods, Belle—"

"And it never happened. Not until it was almost too late. It shouldn't takeme getting assaultedfor you to _finally_ _notice_ _something's_ _wrong_."

"Belle, I'm _begging _you—"

"And then—_I said don't touch me_—then, as soon as you say what you have to say to shut me up and send me to bed, like some _child_, you're right back with him. Gods! You must've been waiting all day! So now I'm wondering, Red, what am I to you? A distraction? An experiment? Are you bored of me?"

"No!"

"Is it because I haven't slept with you? Is this you getting even? Or giving up?"

"_No!_ Dear gods in heaven, will you _listen_—_" _

"Then what? Did it just not mean anything to you at all? Any of it? Because I am _here_, Red. Do you see that? Do you understand what I'm saying? I gave up everything. I put it in writing. I'm risking my life because it finally feels like I'm living it. _I am here._"

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Gods, please. Don't. Oh, gods. No—_

"Say something."

"…Belle…you're destroying me…"

"Well, forgive me if I'm not immediately sympathetic."

"You have to understand…It was just a kiss…"

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew as soon as the words left her mouth. Jack had said something similar, towards the end. Belle favored her with a look of contempt that even he'd been spared.

"_Animal_."

Strong hands shoved Red halfway off the bed. She let out an involuntary kicked-puppy whine. The other girl's resolve faltered for a moment at that, but soon it came back steelier than ever. She tore the sheets away.

"I'm going to the other room."

"No, Belle, _please_. The moon…I'm going to have nightmares…."

The words died on her lips. Belle was already gone.

* * *

Rust began to eat away at the corners of Red's vision. Her head spun. She fell to her knees in the middle of the floor, hands hooked into claws that dragged through her hair. She was going to be sick.

No…worse…she was going to turn.

_Gods, no. Not now. Please not now. She'll never look at me again. I have to stop this. I have to fix this. I have to tell her—_

The wolf heaved in her chest, forcing a snarl out of her throat.

—_I have to get out of here. _

She staggered to her feet, gripping the foot of the bed so hard a crack ran down the wood. Her breaths were short and sharp. She'd been on the edge of this all night, she'd held this back for hours, but even her considerable new control couldn't contain the raw emotion that tore at her now. And in just the space of a few short seconds she'd managed to drive off the one person who always knew how to bring her back around.

Perfect. Astounding.

_What the hell were you thinking? _

_I wasn't._

_What the hell. Were you thinking?_

_I just had to say goodbye—_

_You fucking idiot._

A burst of pain. Her fist sparkled with broken glass. She'd broken through the window. Gods, when had that happened? Was she blacking out already—?

_Get away from her. Get away from everybody._

Red pulled the window open properly and hurdled through it. She ran. The fresh-frosted grass crunched under her boots. As soon as she was too far away to hear the sounds of the cabin or the campsite, she shuddered, let go, and changed.

_Finally._ She flew over the forest floor with newfound speed, leaving the mess she'd made behind.

_Don't you dare shut me out, _she warned her wolf as she ran.

But even as she thought it she could feel her consciousness guttering like a candle in a draft. The wolf had too much encouraging it tonight. Anger at Jack, for starting this shit show. Anger at Pete, for going along. Anger at Belle even, for refusing to listen.

But mostly, anger at herself. For taking the other girl for granted, even for an instant.

The last of her conscious thoughts flagged and fell away.

Sometimes language wasn't good enough.

Sometimes you just had to howl.


End file.
